Prototype
by Crystal di Angelo
Summary: Janson isn't prepared to give up hope, even though they are running in circles searching for a Cure. They need a test subject whose brain patterns they are familiar with to test the Cure prototypes on, so that they can improve and make the necessary changes. And his eyes alight on Newt.
1. Prologue

_**Forgive me if there are any mistakes in the anatomy of the brain. I thank you for reading this, and I hope that you will enjoy it.**_

 _ **And yes, I'm still updating Upside Down, don't worry. I'm still going to write for Ao No Exorcist as well.**_

* * *

 _ **Prototype**_

 _Prologue:_

* * *

The Crank village was unstable. And it being kept so close to WICKED headquarters…Janson didn't like the idea of it. If they happened to get out of control, if their guards happened to fail them…then they were doomed. Janson longed dearly to have the village exterminated, but they needed it to test their Cure prototypes on. Everyone agreed that every prototype deserved to be tested, since with this unknown disease, they were mostly relying on chance and hope right now. It was what kept everyone going, coming up with new combinations of chemicals, call it Cure prototype 54-or 55, Janson wasn't sure what number they were up to now.

Hope was growing though, as the results from the Scorch Trials rolled into their screens. They had gotten excellent results before in the Maze, but it was nothing compared to this. Especially Thomas. Before, they had received ample information on the stimulation of the amygdale from the other subjects, when they experienced extreme emotion such as fear when confronted with a Griever in their very own home, but Thomas had not considered the Glade a home as long as the others, and the response was lacking.

The Scorch Trials, however, were a different story. Thrown in an unfamiliar environment, now with the information that they were being manipulated, their brains were working overtime to cope with the overload of information and decision making ability. Janson smiled as the patterns danced on his monitor, different wavelengths from different people. Ava had always been focused on the blueprint they were building, but Janson had tried privately to tackle it from different angles that never worked.

Now, if only he could find a pattern in them, a pattern that differs from their controls…

He had a team of scientists working on the project from this angle. Currently, he had them testing out how to obtain wavelengths they need through administering chemicals. They had made progress, but it would mean nothing if a pattern could not be found.

Janson sighed, and reached over to click the button that would forward the results to Ava Paige. His eyes then narrowed, staring at the live camera feed of the boys, resting while Minho kept watch. He looked on as Minho stretched, yawned, and walked over to wake Newton from his slumber. Newton arose, murmured something to Minho, patted his back, and took his place to watch. Janson smiled a little.

The Scorch Trials were nearing the end. With the blueprint Ava had been building, the information they had collected on chemicals and brain patterns…once the experiment was over, they would have no need for the Control. The other Immunes, in Ava's words, were their hope for a new world, and should not be disposed of easily. Newton, however…

They had been monitoring his brain patterns for so long. Dr. Hong, Newton's doctor, would know his subject's brain patterns like the back of his hand by now, he had been studying for so long. There would also be the added bonus of the Immunes' reaction when they find out (after Newton had been secured, of course). They might trigger an even more extreme reaction.

Yes, indeed. Isaac Newton would make the perfect test subject.

Janson sent the patterns, and composed a second email regarding his proposal. He sent it at 4.36 a.m. in the morning, and waited for a reply.

96 minutes later, Ava Paige's email arrived, containing two words that were burdened and weary.

Janson, however, felt none of the emotion in the words. He only felt pure glee and warm, warm hope.

 _Go ahead._


	2. Chapter 1

_**Thanks to the two guests that reviewed within a day of my posting the prologue! It was written on a whim, really, and updates will be sporadic, but thank you for the kind encouragement.**_ _ **Also, I do not possess a copy of the Death Cure. It was borrowed from a friend, so forgive me if some details are out. And forgive me for my attempt at Glader slang…I feel like Thomas when he first arrived in the Glade.**_

* * *

 _ **For sacrifices needed to be made in the name for the greater good, and questions hath been asked, for do the ends justify the means?**_

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter 1_

* * *

Minho narrowed his eyes as he was escorted through the halls to an unknown destination. They had taken Newt, Thomas, Jorge, Brenda, and all the others away. He had protested against it at first, but Janson, with that rat-faced smile of his, had given promises and reassurance that they would be fine.

"Just one last, simple, Trial. Then you can see your friends again." He said soothingly. Newt had shot him a warning look to not take this any further. They needed the Cure for Brenda and Jorge, WICKED was in power right now, and if they wanted to defy them, they could always do it later, after they had a better idea of what they were capable of, and the layout of the corridors. As Minho was escorted through the place, he used his Runner sense to remember every turn, nook and cranny in that place.

Finally, they stopped in front of an unassuming white door, so like all the others they had passed before. It opened, and he was led inside. It was empty except for a white, round table, three vials of amber liquid on it, and two pristine chairs around the table. There was a glass wall on the other side.

Minho was told to sit, and he did, looking suspicious. The guards left through the door, which sealed shut immediately after their exit.

Bored, Minho took to examining the three vials of liquid, which were magnetically stuck to the table. The glass wall flickered, and an image started to form on it. Intrigued and apprehensive, Minho scooted his chair away from the glass wall.

The Chancellor Lady who shot herself in the head during the Maze Trials video was sitting there, a calm smile on her face as she regarded Minho.

"A job well done, Leader of Group A." Her voice echoed, and Minho thought bitterly of those who died under his watch. Nick and Alby would be horrified at the fine job Minho had been doing. "Just one final Trial, and you may receive knowledge."

"Everyone keeps telling me that shuck!" Minho snapped at her. "One last shucking Trial, and all's over and done. The Maze killed half of us-the Scorch even more. Are there going to be none left after the Third one?"

Ava Paige smiled. "Yes. For among the three vials of liquid on the table, two are just regular wine. The other one, while similar in texture, color and taste, is a deadly poison. Two will live through this, if you do it right."

Minho's stomach sank to knee-level. Seriously? He had a clichéd feeling about this…but really?

He met her eyes. "I'll dump every drop of the liquids."

Ava Paige looked straight at him, past him. And it infuriated Minho that he was being looked through. By a hologram. "The vials are designed for the purpose of drinking, nothing more."

The door opened again, and before Minho could shout for them to get out, Newt and Frypan were shoved hard into the room, landing painfully on their backsides. Newt groaned and scrambled up, noticing the hologram, as Frypan grumbled at him.

"Listen to what those shanks say, you said. Don't give them a reason to hurt us, you said. And we get shoved on our butts for doing _nothing_."

"Excellent. Your companions have arrived." Ava Paige still had that smile on her face. "I will leave the privilege of explaining to you, Minho. And if you do not follow the rules, you _all_ die."

The hologram blinked out.

Frypan turned white. Newt rounded on Minho. "Explain."

Minho gestured to the vials of liquid on the table. "Two's normal. One's poison. She wants us to choose. One each."

"And if we don't she'll kill us." Frypan stated flatly. "We're totally in her control right now. Her equipment, her shucking place. She could probably electrocute us through the floor if she wanted to."

Minho drew his legs up a little. "Or release poison gas…I don't know."

Newt looked at the remaining chair. "Only one bloody chair?"

Minho's heart sank a little more. Symbolism? One would die, two would live. Dead people don't need chairs.

"You sit." Frypan said.

Newt knew that he was offering up the seat because of his bad leg, and he didn't appreciate it. "I don't bloody need it." He snapped.

Minho then stood, kicking the chair away. "Stand together, then."

Frypan stared at the vials for a very long time. Then said quietly, "I'll take the leftover one."

Minho stared at him. "You aren't serious. We're really going to follow her klunk game? There _has_ to be a way-"

"This is _her_ turf, Minho." Newt smiled sadly, then took one of the vials. The magnetic force must have been released some time just now, when they were distracted. Probably after Ava Paige had stated her sick rules.

"No-" Minho started, but Newt dumped the entire vial of liquid down his throat.

Frypan stared in shock, then moved to hold Minho back as he pounced on Newt, knocking the pale boy to the floor. Newt had turned bright red, gagging and spluttering on the liquid. The vial clattered out on the floor.

Minho screamed, grabbed the vial, and smashed it hard against the floor. It bounced off without so much as a scratch, knocking Minho in the knee. "You stupid shank! We could have found a _way_ to-urghhh."

Newt stopped coughing by then, eyes watering. He looked up at Minho, calm. "One is better than three. Do the math, Minho, I know you're smart even though you don't look like it."

Frypan deemed it safe to let go of Minho by then. Just then, the door opened, and guards entered. They were wary, skittish, like cornered animals, prepared to flee, tensed up. But when one of the guards grabbed Newt's arm and started to drag him out of the room roughly, Minho snapped. He punched the guard roughly, forcing him to let go of Newt. Frypan joined in, punching and kicking any guard within reach. Newt scrambled towards them, and his foot kicked the empty vial. He took a kick to his head for his trouble as he bent down to retrieve it, but he was rewarded with the satisfying thump as he swung the vial to connect with a guard's head. He went down, unconscious.

They had made the vial practically indestructible for fear the boys would destroy them. It even had a sweet little mechanism built in so that it would only open when it was in contact with saliva and heat-it had to be in their mouths, to prevent them from dumping the liquid. Now it was working in their favor since it made a pretty good weapon.

The guards did not forget what they came for though. Increased efforts were made to grab their quarry. Frypan and Minho did not notice at first, being amply distracted with the seemingly never ending number of guards. The increasing amount of bodies by their feet was impending their movements as well. Minho had received several bruises, and Frypan wasn't faring any better, his breath coming hard.

And-

"Use the Launchers!" Janson cried from the door. He looked straight into Minho's eyes, and hissed, "You boys forced us into this."

Before they could even start to comprehend what a Launcher was, a fizzling ball of energy sent Newt crumpling to the ground.

Minho let out a guttural howl and lunged towards Newt, who was convulsing on the floor. One touch, however, sent him sprawling and twitching.

Frypan knocked over the guards surrounding the duo, obviously waiting for the electricity to die off and drag Newt off while they were still disorientated. He readied his fists, standing guard over his friends.

The guards changed tactics fast, though. They came at him, leaving calculated openings for him to slip through. Frypan had no choice but to go through those openings, unless he wanted to get clobbered. He hated having to fall for their plan even though he'd already seen through it. And that led him further and further from his friends.

He couldn't see Minho and Newt through the mass of churning bodies. Then somewhere along the line, he got hit with the same fizzling ball of energy, rushing at him through yet another calculated opening, and he fell as well.

When the spasms were over, the room was pristine white again, with no mark of the scuffle left. Minho was sitting in the other chair, staring at him with a dead look in his eyes. When Frypan looked at him questioningly, he said, "They took him."

Two vials of liquid left. The poison might still be in one of them, or making its way through Newt's system by now.

Minho grabbed one vial, the one closest to his side of the table. He lifted it towards Frypan, who took the leftover one.

"Cheers." They said together, and downed the drink.

* * *

The guards entered, with the strange, heavy guns pointed at them. Neither put up a fight, but they did make a lot of smart ass comments to the guards as they were led different ways.

"Hey, shank, do you know you look real clumsy in that suit? Like a piece of klunk, I'd say." Minho got in his guard's face, and nearly received a bolt of energy to his face. Somewhere far, he could hear Frypan chortle.

"Shut up." The guard said. "My orders were to take you to the quarantine room until all of the Trials end, so I'd recommend you stay quiet, since I'm going to be your primary guard for a long time."

Minho disliked him immediately. His attitude reminded him of Gally, and not in a good way. However, he listened and shut up for the rest of the journey to his quarantine room.

It looked surprisingly homely. No more white, pristine walls, just normal peach and a single, lonely bed. A desk in the corner with a stack of books. A quick check of the drawers revealed stationary. A door in the opposing wall led to a moderately sized bathroom, with a shower and sink, the soaps all stocked neatly.

"You will wait here until any effects from your Trial shows. Until then the only face you're allowed to see is mine. That door will be locked at all times. Clothes and food will be provided by yours truly, so behave." The guard smirked, and left Minho to his own devices.

Minho sighed, and sat down on the bed. He closed his eyes, trying to feel his entire body. Sore and aching from the fight earlier, and the electrical shock, but no stomach churning, no weird tingly feeling…

He wondered how Frypan and Newt were doing.

* * *

 _Newt had held out hope, even as he sprinted from Door to Door, waiting, looking, straining his eyes into the dark, gloomy pathways of the Maze, hoping that Alby and Minho would be back soon._

 _He was supposed to be more composed, to appear calm. When Alby's not around, he's the one in command._

 _The implications of them not returning after so long meant that this might be a permanent arrangement. And Newt won't be able to bear it. They had just lost Nick the month before, damnit!_

 _He continued to run like he had never before, asking around, hoping beyond all odds that he might just have missed their returning, that they were safely holed up in the Map Room, or in the Homestead. Yet he couldn't bring himself to look there._

 _The Greenie was concerned as well, but Newt couldn't muster the energy to reassure him. He was barely keeping his composure together himself. His ankle hurt from all that running around, his head spun, coming up with more and more crazed explanations to why they were late-Chuck even had the nerve to suggest they were exploring._

 _Every second ticking closer to the Doors closing was torture for Newt. He turned, wanting to run away, to leave, not wanting to face the empty corridor any longer._

 _And Tommy spotted them._

 _Minho, struggling towards the Doors, Alby a dead, limp weight._

 _Newt wanted to run in, to help Minho, to haul both of them back to safety. He was too far, he wouldn't make it in time._

 _The seconds were ticking. Three._

 _Newt was prepared to run into the Maze if only there was time._

 _Two._

 _He fearfully glanced at Minho's sweltering face._

 _One._

 _Minho's eyes met his._

 _And the Doors started to grind shut._

 _Newt recognized the tension forming in Tommy's body, the look in his eyes._

" _Don't you bloody do it, Tommy!" Newt screamed, trying to at least save one-_

 _And Thomas was gone._


	3. Chapter 2

_**At the end of each chapter I'm putting in some drabbles which may or may not be in this story's universe. Just a little product of my mind which I really don't know where to put, really XD Just clarifying.**_

 _ **Everyone who's reviewed are guests! O.o I've never had this happen before on my other stories, but oh well. If anything, I'd appreciate your reviews more because if you don't have an account, you might not visit this site often, so it means that my story caught your attention on one of these rare excursions. I'm honored. :)**_

 _ **Properly replying to your reviews this time:**_

 _ **Fadingshadowss: I'm currently running on all the emotions from page 250, so yeah, I'm updating fast, given all the emotions it can create.**_

 _ **Guest: Thanks! I thought it was original at first, but later found another fanfiction with a similar idea at the opening. I can say that it terms of plot, we're going to branch out very soon though.**_

 _ **That's So Raven: Really!? I'd hate to keep you waiting, then… *cackles***_

 _ **MazeRunnerJunkie: Thank you! I'm following your wish-updating right now XD**_

* * *

 _But there was something about the largest object in the solar system vanishing that tended t_ _o disrupt schedules._

* * *

 _ **Prototype**_

 _Chapter Two_

* * *

It was the most agonizing few days Minho had ever gone through. He kept a small diary with the stationary provided, though not writing much, in fear it would be seen by WICKED, and didn't incur any more trouble with the guard. He just couldn't muster the energy to. Without Frypan's chuckling, or Newt's amused, disapproving glare, it just seemed pointless.

He had detected no signs of poison whatsoever in his own body. No diarrhea, vomiting, or even the slightest sign of the flu. If he didn't have it, that means either Frypan or Newt had it.

With too much time on his hands and an overactive brain, Minho couldn't help but weigh the possibilities of each, drawing countless diagrams of the placing of the vials and their standing positions, trying to determine who WICKED would want dead, whether they would play any psychological tricks. They had made Alby choke himself before, so it was possible that they could have somehow forced any of them into drinking the one with poison.

…and that was why too much time on his hands wasn't good.

Minho did what he could with the limited space he had available. Sit ups, running in place, even jumping jacks, but he nearly clonked his head on the desk one time. Then he started on the small pile of books available, trying to lose himself in the make believe world of Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings, trying not to think about what was happening to his friends right now. Where's Thomas? Or Newt and Frypan? Or Jorge and Brenda?

In the morning, when he woke up, there would be a fresh set of clothes and breakfast on the desk. He would leave his dirty clothes on the floor at night, just to irritate the guard when he came in to collect them. Minho had briefly considered the idea of staying up late or waking up extra early to catch the guard coming in, but in the end decided that keeping their interactions to a minimum would be more preferable. Honestly, he just needed to meet up with Newt, Thomas and Frypan before making any decisions about escaping. He wouldn't do it without them.

So when the fourth day arrived, it surprised Minho that he was waking up to the sight of the guard standing over him, arms crossed, though looking as if he didn't despise Minho that much anymore.

"Rise and shine, kid." He said as Minho blinked up at him for one second, then shot out of bed.

"Where are we going?" He asked, immediately alert. He noted that the guard was holding that huge gun in his hands once more, but was looking quite relaxed for it. His clothes and breakfast, as usual, were on the desk.

"Change and eat, then I'm supposed to bring you to the others." The guard informed him. "Everyone alive is going to be there."

Minho grabbed the clothes and ducked into the bathroom.

The new information had sent his brain into a whirl dive again. Was Newt going to be there? Was Frypan going to be there? Were they going to be sick? Dying? Or just not there at all?

It terrified him, the idea of one of them not showing up hammering the revelation that one was going to be dead by now into his mind.

He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know the answer to that.

And selfishly, he wanted Newt to live instead of Frypan.

 _Stop,_ he told himself sternly. He did not need to go there. Terrified that one day, he would have to make the choice for real, and he'd know who to pick immediately. How could he ever look Frypan in the eye ever again?

That shower lasted two minutes longer than usual, and when he got out, he found the guard reading his journal. He knew that it would be read eventually, but anger bubbled inside him for a moment.

Then the guard snapped to attention, standing and pushing the breakfast tray over. "You sure took your sweet time, boy. Eat. You don't want to make your friends wait."

And Minho gulped his breakfast down, thinking about how Newt or Frypan would think. Sitting there alone, thinking that probably he was dead-

Five minutes later, the guard was escorting Minho down the long corridor again. A couple of twists and turns, then Minho was brought into a room that resembled a waiting room in a hospital. Again, he searched his memories for the last time he was in a place like this, but for the earth of him couldn't remember.

But that wasn't important right now.

For in between the rows of chairs, Gladers milled about, greeting each other with surprised and happy expressions. The Glenners, the girls from Group B, were there too, but mostly were huddled in a corner to themselves, whispering and talking, seeming to share none of the Gladers' relief. Winston, with his normally stoic face, had softened his expression. Everyone had been worried to death. And Frypan was there too, mouth lines twitching up into a laugh, then froze, as his expression fell.

That meant…Newt.

Oh.

Minho's heart fell into his shoes.

The guard had disappeared some time ago, and a newly arrived girl impatiently pushed at Minho's back, since he was blocking the door.

Minho turned numbly, before moving aside to let the girl pass. Frypan came up and gripped his shoulder tightly.

"I'm sorry, shank." He whispered.

"What happened?" A familiar voice asked from the door. "Hey, you're both alive!"

Frypan hit Newt in the shoulder. "You had both of us scared to death, shank!"

Laughing, Newt held up both arms. "I'm bloody sorry for it, okay? But both of you are fine? Nothing at all?"

"It could be slow-acting." Minho stated drearily. "Nothing here on my end though."

Frypan shrugged. "Just boredom eating away at me. They probably just wanted to see us react to that choice…study our klunk brain patterns or whatever."

"Okay…" Newt stepped aside to allow another girl pass. They seemed to be bringing them in at carefully calculated intervals, one boy, one girl, one every minute. "Let's just keep that in mind for now. Who else isn't here yet?"

"Thomas, the slinthead." Frypan barked out a short laugh as he sagged in relief. Everyone's fine, for now at least.

As if on cue, Thomas stumbled right into them at that very moment. "Guys!" He perked up immediately upon seeing them. A lot of back patting went around, and one last girl arrived before Janson stepped up to take the stage. Everyone quieted down immediately and took the seats available.

"Everyone!" Janson had a big smile on his face, but it only made Minho feel uneasy. Thomas shifted next to him. Newt motioned for Thomas to settle down. "I am pleased to announce that the Trials are now officially over. We will remove the Swipe and return your memories-"

The room burst into a babble of talk, but Janson tapped the podium a couple of times to get everyone's attention. Thomas was shaking his head, and Minho agreed with him. Newt just looked undecided and Frypan was biting his lip. However, before they could discuss this newest development, Janson was speaking again.

"We need your assistance to complete the blueprint. All of you here are Immune, and therefore are not susceptible to the Flare virus, so after we return your memories you are free to go, and we thank you for participating in the Trials. However, it is our hope that you will remain and help save the world by completing the Cure."

Thomas was craning his neck by now, looking for Teresa. Minho felt a wave of panic wash over him. Teresa! And the boy, Aris. Where were they?

"However. Some of you have been placed in the Trials as Controls. That means that some of you are not Immune. I would like to get this over with before we gloss out the final details and finalize your choices. Those who are not Immune, I would advise you to stay within this facility to reduce exposure to the virus, as well as being the first to receive any Cure prototype we create. So listen carefully."

Minho gulped a little as all around him, his friends tensed. Thomas would almost certainly be Immune, since they were so fixated on him and sending him in with Teresa to trigger the Ending. As for himself, Newt, Frypan, or the others, he had no idea whatsoever.

Janson's eyes scanned the list. "Among those of you who survived, both Group A and Group B have only one non-Immune left. Group A."

His words hung in the air as Gladers positioned all around the room stopped breathing.

"Subject A5, the Glue, Isaac Newton."

Six words. The first two bringing dread, the second two bringing denial, and the final two hammering the reality home.

Newt looked frozen in place. Thomas had his mouth agape, like a goldfish. Minho wanted to punch the daylights out of the Rat Man.

Except that it wouldn't make Newt Immune.

Frypan had his fist clenched so tightly that it looked like he might draw blood. Slowly, Newt unfroze, and he gently shook Frypan. "It's okay. I'm okay. They're working on a Cure, if they can be trusted. They lied to us about the poison, they could be lying again. Come on, shank. Don't bloody zone out on me."

Janson had sent the Glenners into a similar state with, "Subject B7, the Blanket, Joanne Rowling".

"Now, would those of you who would like to remove the Swipe follow me…?" He trailed off.

Most of the Gladers stood, some stopping by to murmur a word in Newt's ear, or for a brief handshake. The Glenners followed suit as well, but Joanne remained in place, crying on her friend's shoulder. The friend was patting her soothingly and hugging her close.

Minho's heart clenched for Newt. Five minutes into hearing his own death sentence, and Newt was taking care of the others. Again. Like he always did.

Newt looked at Thomas. "Are we doing it?"

Thomas shook his head. "I don't want those shanks tinkering around with my head any more. I'm either going to help just as I am, or not at all." He lowered his voice. "I want to leave."

Frypan started to stand. "You shanks might not want what they're offering. It's probably just a load of klunk, but I'm going to take up the offer. I'm tired of running, and I'm not even a Runner. I just…don't want to live like this anymore. Moreover…" he shot a meaningful look at Newt. "You have to take some things into consideration. This shank here needs a Cure, and the only way he's getting it is by staying here. You shanks can't drag him into your crazy trust issues."

"I'm following you two." Newt's voice was clear. "I appreciate it, Frypan, but _I_ trust these two shanks. Whatever decision they're making, I'm going to follow."

Frypan shook his head, and left the room. Newt turned to Minho and Thomas. "So?"

Thomas had his eyes downcast, struggling to make a decision. Minho gripped Newt's shoulder.

"Listen." He said in a low voice. "Stay."

Thomas had made a decision too. "Newt. Stay."

Newt shook his head. "You can't bloody do this, Tommy. I want to go with you shanks."

"You listen!" Minho yelled. "We need you alive, shank. We need you to stay here. We need you to get the Cure and get better."

Newt shook his head again, a hint of desperation showing. "Don't! We're sticking together through this! I don't want those people here with their hands on me!"

"I'm sorry, Newt ." Thomas clenched his fists. He didn't want to do this to Newt, but they really needed Newt to be safe. Healthy. Alive. "If you go out and catch the Flare, you could turn on us. There are places we wouldn't be able to access with you, and we wouldn't feel reassured knowing that you're outside there, alone. At least in WICKED you get care."

Hurt flashed across Newt's face. Minho knew what Thomas was trying to do, and it was working. He hated that they had to resort to this, but they had no other way of making Newt stay.

"They call me the Glue." Newt said softly. "But what am I when there's nothing to stick?"

The two remaining girls rose, Joanne having calmed down. They left the room as well.

"We'll manage without you for a while. But when we come back, falling apart at the seams, then you can be the one to glue us together again. For now, just…don't dry up."

Newt cracked a smile. "Bloody inspired, Minho, bloody inspired. I'll try. You two…go on."

Newt was letting go. Minho should be relieved that he was consenting to treatment, but he felt his heart hollowing out, a pickaxe chipping at it from inside.

"Yeah. See you, shank."

It felt like the sun was slowly but surely vanishing from their lives.

And there was something about the person they revolved around being separated from them that made Minho want to rescind those words and decisions.

To keep everyone together until the end of the world.

* * *

 _Who killed him?_

 _He himself, who begged for death?_

 _The Flare, which drove him crazy?_

 _The scientists, who created the Flare?_

 _The government, who ordered it released?_

 _The sun flares that caused the necessity to release it?_

 _Bricks_

 _Building_

 _Up_

 _And_

 _Up_

 _Almost as if_

 _It was written in the stars_

 _That he should die_

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _But it doesn't change the fact_

 _That Tommy was the one_

 _To complete the structure of fate_

 _By pulling the trigger_


	4. Chapter 3

_**Thanks for all the praise I've been receiving! It's quite unexpected, really, since I don't really use English in my day to day life and have no idea whether my language skills are okay…**_

 _ **I had this really good idea for a drabble while taking a test and had nowhere to write it down and now I'd forgotten!**_ _ ***sobs* Anyway, there's a substitute theory down there for you guys…enjoy! In the meantime I'll try to get that drabble back…**_

 _ **Lovinglollipop0402: Wow! I looked up your favorites on your profile, and discovered that you're Christian! I feel like hugging you :) Question: Any good fanfics without slash here?**_

 _ **BookRain: Hmm…I've decided on the main plot of the story, but as for Newt's survival, it still remains a mystery. Bwahahaha XD And you're a Christian too! Wow. This fic really brought lots of good things into my life.**_

 _ **MazeRunnerJunkie: Someone noticed! I was puzzling over who to name her after, and finally decided, shuck it, I'm naming her after JKR. And I got the don't dry up part from somewhere on Tumblr, can't remember…**_

 _ **That's So Raven: Sorry for the long review?! You don't say sorry for long reviews. You wait for the author to bow and thank you XD Um…I really hope that I don't break anyone's heart…I've lots of similar moments planned up ahead, if only I can remember that drabble I'd forgotten! Sigh…I'll get it back in time, hopefully. And no, no, I'm still undecided about Newt's fate (see BookRain's reply) so depends. Probably I'll be in a killing mood or not when we finally get there, in about, oh, I don't know, twenty chapters, tops.**_

* * *

 _Don't call us subjects. We're not mice trying to find the cheese._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Three_

* * *

"We are very glad that you chose to take our advice, Mr. Newton." Janson was pleased, indeed. He'd expected resistance, especially from the other two subjects, Thomas and Minho, so he had adjusted his speech to say all the right words, to stress on the importance of Newt's staying. He even made the deliverance of Newt's unfortunate condition as emotionally charged as possible, so that they would make decisions on the spur of the moment. He did not hold a degree in psychology for nothing.

Newt said nothing, but kept his head down and followed Janson's light footsteps quietly. Janson frowned. He had expected more spirit from the famous Glue.

"I am going to show you to your room. The one you stayed in before was just temporary, in case you didn't want to stay." Janson had made sure of this, to keep up the illusion of a choice. In reality, if they didn't want to stay, the poisoned wine they had given them during the Third Trial would have spread through their body and forced them to return for the antidote. Or treatment, more like. It has to be taken every day, mixed in their food portions. They did have the antidote, but no way they were going to administer it freely. Newt however, would receive it the next day just before testing Cure Prototype 60. They can't very well have any foreign substances in his body reacting to the prototype. "Don't be afraid to ask if you need anything."

"Actually…" The boy spoke, and somewhere down in Janson's heart, the slight tremor in his voice touched a chord that he never knew existed. "How long have I been infected? What happens?"

Janson pretended that he didn't hear, pushing that feeling away. He stopped in front of a door. "Yours." And because he couldn't bring himself to ignore the subject's request completely, he added, "I will have books brought up to your room tomorrow, after the prototype we created based on the data obtained is safely administered. You can read up on the Flare then."

"Thank you." There was a wariness in the subject's eyes, like a fox hiding from a tiger. Janson didn't like it. There was too much fight left in him, too many questions. He will have to be isolated from the others, Janson decided. Not even Subject B7 would be allowed to see him, even though they were in the same boat. These boys made life harder for him at every turn.

And Janson locked the subject into his room before leaving to check on the Cure Prototype.

Tomorrow, Dr. Hong would inject the combination of chemicals into the subject, and the _useful_ information would come in.

* * *

Minho and Thomas refused the Swipe removal, but surprisingly, no one gave them trouble for it. They voiced their intent to leave to Janson when he came to take Newt away, and Janson promised that he would make arrangements after they got a good night's sleep. The Rat Man seemed in a good mood over something, and that made Thomas nervous.

"Where do you think Newt is now?" He whispered to Minho through the dark as they lay on their respective bunks. The room had been prepared for four, but only two beds were occupied. He wondered why Newt couldn't have at least been allowed to spend the night with them.

"Missing Mama now, shank?" Minho laughed, though it didn't sound real, just an attempt to make himself believe everything's still okay. "Get to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow. Things to figure out, places to go."

"Without Newt." Thomas bit on his lower lip for a moment. He had never really thought about what would happen or feel if one of them was gone. They were just always together, always there for each other. Like missing one of his limbs. That continuous presence that had always been by his side was now gone.

There was a rustling of sheets, and Minho sat up. "Listen here, shank. I want Newt with us here too, I wish that we could stay together. But I'd rather be separated from a sane Newt than stay together with an insane Newt. He tries to be all noble, wanting to stick with us through it all, but we need to learn how to let go. Good that?"

Thomas nodded. "Good that." He whispered.

Somewhere in the darkness and floating whispers of dreams, Thomas finally fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Newt wasn't sure what to do.

His friends weren't around, no one to tease, no one to help, no one to talk to. Just him and the bloody Flare in his mind.

He paced the room, being unable to find sleep. It was quite simply furnished, but the bed was soft and the water was warm-and that was a lot more than Newt had for the past few years.

But he couldn't bring himself to enjoy it right now.

Tomorrow, they would give him the Cure-or a prototype of it. The other girl, Joanne, would probably receive it as well. They had a chance of being cured, thanks to everything the Gladers and Glenners went through in the Maze and in the Scorch.

All those lives given, just for one small combination of chemicals.

 _Stop thinking._ He told himself as he sat down on the bed. A droplet of clear water slipped from his hair and landed on the back of his hand. He frowned at it.

For a moment, he had seen red.

Suddenly feeling scared beyond anything he had ever felt, Newt slipped under the covers, which did nothing for his shivering, and curled himself into a ball, willing sleep to take him.

Sleep. The only refuge he had from the world.

 _No no no._

Red spread everywhere within his dreams. He saw himself tearing at Thomas and Minho, saw himself going berserk in the Glade. He saw himself eating his friends. Newt almost couldn't recognize that entity as himself at first, his expression was so twisted and garish. The thing that gave him away was the limp. Newt screamed and screamed, and all of a sudden he was within _that_ body, staring at his hands in mute horror.

He sprang up from the bed, crying out in a broken, twisted scream, and realized that he had been crying. Newt stared into the darkness for a moment, silent, broken breathing sounds piercing the silence, tears streaming down his cheeks. He touched the sheets. Tangible. Real.

 _A dream. A nightmare. They're safe from you. They aren't here._

"We are going to be okay." Newt said into the dark, wanting to reassure himself, but his voice wavered, and Newt knew that he didn't even believe them as he said it.

He didn't dare to sleep again until morning came. Or at least, he knew it was morning when the lights in the room turned on. There was no window, or clock to measure time with ever since they returned from the Scorch. They hadn't seen the sky ever since they were pulled in by that Berg. For all they knew, WICKED could be turning their internal clocks upside down. He cautiously put one foot on the floor, which was surprisingly warm. The temperature in the room should be regulated by WICKED as well, then. He didn't like it, that he was completely within their grasp, but he had no choice.

Newt stood completely, feeling a twinge in his right ankle and sighed inwardly. His ankle had its moods, and today wasn't a good day. He hadn't figured out what caused the changes, and just rolled with the punches.

He trudged into the bathroom to freshen himself up, but caught himself staring at the mirror instead.

He wasn't sure how much sleep he had missed, but a lot, judging from the circles under his eyes. His hair was a complete mess as well, matted with sweat.

He remembered how his doppelganger ( _it was him, he knew it_ ) had looked in his dreams and repressed a shudder as he looked away from the mirror. He freshened himself up and ran a comb through his hair. Those every day, simple actions helped calm him down a little.

Just as he was starting to feel less jittery and more in control of himself, the door of the room opened suddenly, revealing Janson who had a huge smile on his face, making Newt want to draw back instinctively.

"I shall personally monitor your treatment today. We are not giving you any food yet, for fear that it may interfere with the chemical reactions that are going to take place. Before we start, however, I'll require you to take these two pills." He held out two innocent pills in a glass container.

Newt stared at it suspiciously. "What does it do?"

Janson's smile faded a little. "I would advise as few questions as possible, Mr. Newton. It removes unnecessary substances from your body, nothing more."

Newt didn't like the sudden dark look that fell over the man, and briefly wondered if he had contracted some form of the Flare as well. He was certainly acting eccentric enough. He wisely kept his mouth shut though, and took the pills with water from a bottle Janson produced.

"Excellent. Now follow me." Janson turned and walked away abruptly, and Newt hurried to catch up. He hated being at WICKED's beck and call, but the Cure lay in their hands, and he would do anything to avoid the events from his dream happening.

"Go into that room. Dr. Hong and Dr. Callestan will take over from there." Janson swiped a card through the security mechanism, and the door slid open to reveal a cluttered room full of machines and unidentifiable equipment. There was an examination table in the middle, and Newt walked over to it.

The door closed behind him, and he cautiously reached out a hand to touch the cool surface of the hard table. Newt pressed his palm flat against it, trying not to think of what would happen next. He lifted his head and looked around the room, sharp eyes searching for anything that could hurt him. He singled out needles and some scary looking scalpels, and sent a silent prayer heavenwards that it wasn't meant for him. He saw some vials filled with still liquids, and didn't touch them, but stared at them curiously, his brain offering up identifications for some of them, and yet others remained nameless.

Had a really been the right choice, agreeing to treatment?

He was behaving like a child at his first time to the dentist's, but he didn't really care. This wasn't some toothache, and he had no parents to comfort or reassure him.

The door opened all of a sudden, and had Newt not been used to being startled all of a sudden and reacting on the spot, he would have knocked the chemicals over. Instead, he dashed back to the examination table, trying to look innocent.

An Asian doctor which reminded him of Minho entered. She must be Dr. Hong, the one that Janson mentioned earlier. Newt swallowed nervously.

"Mr. Newton." She spoke formally, though had a weird accent to her words. While Newt's accent just dragged out vowels and letters here and there, with a larger accentuation on some others, her's twisted the words completely, almost turning it into a different language, and yet one could still hear the words under it all. It was melodious but tedious at times. "I have been monitoring you since you were brought in as a boy. You will remember me after we remove the Swipe and return your memories. Dr. Callestan will be here shortly. He is the main scientist in charge of the prototypes, the third in command after Chancellor Paige and Dr. Janson. Please position yourself on that table so we can begin the operation."

She snapped her gloves on, double checking her instruments as Newt lay down, shivering as his body made contact with the cool surface. The cold travelled quickly through the thin shirt he had been provided with.

"Relax, please."

As she leaned over him, Newt had a flash of red, seeing her bleed and her expression twist.

A wave of panic slammed over him and he bolted upright, screaming, willing the world the lose the tinge of red it had gained somehow. He closed his eyes, but the red burnt into his retinas, and he could smell the iron now, there was no mistaking it-

A jab of the needle, he lashed out, and the red was gone, the sinking darkness taking him instead.

And Newt couldn't decide which was worse.

* * *

 _Not a drabble this time, but a theory. So the movie has deviated largely from the book's plot, right? So fans hope that Newt's death would be overridden as well, considering that large amount of fans screaming for Thomas Brodie Sangster. However, think. Newt's death is what provokes huge emotional responses within us, it's what made the books notable, the event that makes Newt_ _ **Newt**_ _. So it would really be a shame to take it out._

 _Now. They need to do it sometime during the movie, and given that Paradise is the final destination, through WICKED, once they get to WICKED it would probably be nearing the end. No time for Newt to pay a visit to WICKED and start the process of spiraling into insanity, unless the movies are portraying the Flare differently-transmitting through bites instead of air. Winston took a pretty long time though, and there wouldn't be enough time to do that and keep the plot intact._

 _So Newt will either contract it or get bitten on the way back to WICKED to get Minho. The death would also happen before reaching WICKED._

 _That means that the last time Newt and Minho saw each other would be in the last scene of The Scorch Trials. Where Minho gets dragged away and Newt is staring, horrified. Newt will never know if Minho makes it out safe. Minho won't ever know whether he could've changed things if only he had been there for Newt._

 _I'll end with that happy thought._


	5. Chapter 4

_**I seem to be liking the broken sentence style of writing more and more. Check out the new drabble at the bottom. And by the way, I remembered the old drabble! It's not this one though, since the chapter was getting long and the old drabble is quite long as well. A few things: I'm AUing this thing a little, and taking a lot of liberties with Newt's past. His dad is in a much more advanced Flare stage in here, for instance. Oh, and I'm doing my best to pace Newt's spiral into insanity with the amount of thinking he got done. He reacted a lot to the memories after he calmed down, so speed up stage! And it's partly responsible for any angry thoughts as well…**_

 _ **I'm vibrating. I love the idea of psychiatry, and writing a character going insane slowly is sort of enjoyable. And no, I'm not a sadist as far as I know.**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **BookRain: I understand that you want Newt to live…but I'm sure as hell not going to spoil my own story! I'm glad that you see my reasoning though, I was terrified of those fans who are actually petitioning for Newt to live in The Death Cure because of Thomas Brodie Sangster.**_

 _ **PeacockGirl: Yeah, I've cried myself to bits and read fix it fanfiction after, but I'm not sure whether I'll make this one. If he does live, I can say that it wouldn't be easy. And hey, I see your fanfiction! Posted seven hours ago…I'm reading it after I post this chapter. ;) And yes, Brenda…to be honest, I don't really like her because I supported Teresa/Thomas initially, but yeah, I appreciate her and Rosa Salazar is good, so I think it'll be fine. I saw a fan theory that day, that even if Newt does die in the movie, the 'Please Tommy please' would probably get cut out because Winston already did that one. Who knows.**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Bittersweet? That's the fanfiction I was referring to in Chapter 1's author's note! The one I said had a similar plotline…but it's going to deviate at the end. And everyone wants Newt to live! If I do kill him I'll feel bad…**_

 _ **Guest: The only reviewer who didn't state whether you want Newt to live or die. XD Thank you for the praise!**_

* * *

 _Remembering is only a new form of suffering._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Four_

* * *

"Janson. I want you to be made aware that even though I gave you the authorization to carry out testing on Subject A5, I am still in charge and you will not make any rash decisions before consulting me. Understood?" Ava Paige spoke, and even through the hologram, Janson could feel the cold fury emanating from the Chancellor. Figurehead she may be, but still intimidating in her own right.

"We have no time-" he started to protest.

"I understand the risks, but for what it's worth, experimenting on humans need to be as humane as possible!" She snapped at him. The normal procedure for the Swipe removal was for the subjects-all of them, Immune or non-Immune alike to receive at least three days rest to cope with the memories! I still don't know what on earth possessed you to inject the prototype while he was still under the anesthesia administered for the brain surgery!"

Janson tried to defend himself indignantly. "We actually have some results now! We managed to stop the advance of the Flare in its tracks! It is literally frozen in place right now!"

Ava Paige looked at him coolly. "Shall I define the Cure for you?"

"A means to remove the Flare from the brain and allow the patient to resume normal activities." Janson recited. "We're a long way from that, but we've stopped it! Dr. Hong is studying what exactly caused this right now."

"Let me tell you what you did. Dr. Hong can stop now." She said, sitting down on her chair. "You froze the boy's mind. He _can't_ think. The prototype was similar to the Bliss, I gather? First, you overloaded his mind with memories-thirteen years' worth, and you injected the Bliss. Congratulations. He is so preoccupied processing the memories that he cannot think." She pulled up a live feed of Newt, baby talking to empty air. Janson felt a chill go down his back. "He is living out every single one of his available memories. Until the prototype wears off, he'll be living in his memories. Does that look like normal activity to you, Dr. Janson?"

Janson slumped in defeat, silently cursing Ava Paige. Just like her to rip away hope, to cast darkness over humanity. "It wears off in another two hours."

"And when will testing be resumed?"

Janson took his first step of rebellion. "In three days." He promised obediently.

* * *

"We are only asking one thing of you. We'll provide you with a WICKED pass and a flight to Denver on our Berg, and in exchange you just need to keep the chips in your head." The nervous doctor told Thomas. "We might get an unexpected piece of information when you react to the real world and know that it isn't another elaborate set up."

Minho raised an eyebrow beside him. "I thought you shanks already have all the information needed to build that shucking blueprint of yours?"

Thomas knew what he was thinking. If they didn't have enough information yet, how long was it going to be until they could see Newt? And what sort of treatment was Newt going to be receiving anyway, with insufficient information?

"We do. But a little more won't hurt. The subjects who've had their chips removed are going to rest for another two days before helping us out. The blueprint is complete, but we still have a lot of work to do, find the patterns, figure out the code, stuff like that." The doctor looked at Thomas. "You would know if you got your memories back."

"No thanks." Thomas promptly replied. "I agree."

"I agree." Minho quickly said. Anything that might help Newt get better.

The doctor let out a faintly audible sigh of relief and keyed in something on his datapad. "Alright, I'm supposed to take you to the Berg right now. There'll be a pilot and another doctor on board to monitor you until you get there, maybe show you the ropes of returning to society if you need-"

"We can manage perfectly fine on our own, thank you."Minho snapped, and the doctor quieted.

"How do we contact you?" Thomas asked the question that had been lingering in their minds.

The doctor looked startled. "You want to contact us?"

Minho rolled his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, most of our friends are here with you shanks, and we might just have a sudden, crazy change of heart, or we might find information we would want to let you guys know, or maybe just prank call you for kicks. What do you think?"

"Right. I need to inform Dr. Janson-"

"It's just a phone number, no big deal." Thomas snorted, and sent Minho a look.

"Yeah, do you need approval from him to take a klunk?" Minho played along, putting a frown on his face. The doctor flushed.

"It's proper procedure. Ah, no, he's busy." The doctor groaned. "Can you wait?"

"We've been trying for three years to escape that shuck maze and now you're delaying our freedom because he's tied up researching the Cure. You wouldn't want to interrupt an important brainstorm, do you?" Minho scowled at him. "Even your personal number would be fine!"

"…right. Wait a minute." The doctor gave in, pulling up new screens on his datapad. Thomas felt happy that they'd gotten it, and Minho was sending questioning looks his way, wondering why he didn't want Janson to know so badly. Thomas wasn't sure either, but his instincts were telling him to keep as much away from Janson as he could.

"I want a direct line to your Chancellor. In case we get hung up in the multitude of calls you must be receiving every day. I promise we won't call if it wasn't important." Thomas pushed a little further. "You remember me from before the Swipe, right? I trust that you're familiar with my personality. I wouldn't bother her if it wasn't something important. And trust me, if anyone can find important things, it's me and this shank."

"It's supposed to be confidential…"

Minho shot him an annoyed look. "Are you giving us a way to contact you, or not?"

"Okay, fine. Don't give it to anybody else, okay? This is just because you two were among the top leaders of the Maze Trials planning stage." The doctor scribbled the number down on Thomas' palm.

He would probably report back to Janson, or not. He might regret his decision later, but the information was already out. Thomas memorized the number and showed it to Minho, who gave a brief nod after five seconds, indicating that he had done the same as well. The doctor looked increasingly uneasy as they finally reached the hangar.

Only to be greeted by a familiar face.

"Jorge? They Cured you? But Newt-prototypes-they worked?" Thomas yelped. "How about Brenda?"

Beside him, a darker possibility formed in Minho's mind. "He might have never been infected in the first place. Or WICKED lied to get Newt away from us."

Jorge smiled sadly at them. "I'm Immune. So is Brenda. She'll be here in five. We work for WICKED."

Thomas' head spun. First Teresa, now Jorge and Brenda. Whom they had risked life and limb to get them on that Berg for treatment. Minho let out a disgusted snort beside him.

"I'm really sorry, Thomas." Brenda's soft voice said from behind him, and Thomas resisted the urge to turn and punch her in the face. Instead, he turned away from both Jorge and Brenda, not wanting to look at them. Only Minho and Newt could be trusted, but Newt was not here.

Thomas wondered who Newt would trust back in the twisted corridors of the WICKED headquarters, and considered running back for him, except that they would be taking him away from much needed treatment.

"It was my job at first." Brenda was still talking, and Thomas wanting her to shut up. He could see the muscles in Minho's jaw clench. "But I met all of you for real, not just data on a computer screen, and I think I understand a lot more. I'm really sorry. What I've done is no better than what Teresa did, but-"

"Shut up and get us to Denver." Thomas spoke, voice cold.

Brenda's face fell, and Jorge sighed deeply, standing up and lowering the ramp.

"You young people'd better come to terms soon. We're leaving and I'm not spending the half day journey in that sharp atmosphere. Get it, muachacos?"

"No promises." Minho said sharply as they ascended the ramp. He whispered into Thomas' ear. "I don't think we should take these shanks up on their offer to be guides unless we really need it."

"Yeah," Thomas wasn't really paying attention as Jorge prepped the Berg for takeoff. Brenda was walking about, trying to look busy but not really doing anything other than rearranging things. He looked at the WICKED facility, looming over them with its guards and electrified fence. He remembered the long, clean corridors and doors branching out to unknown rooms.

Newt and the other girl, Joan probably, in there. They were really going to leave Newt behind. Frypan, Teresa, Winston. All of them had been like a family. And WICKED tore them apart. It was just him and Minho now.

"We stick together no matter what." He said to Minho, feeling a sudden burst of feelings explode within his chest. Minho nodded, a nostalgic look on his face. He must've been thinking along the same lines.

"Let's go."

* * *

Newt woke up parched and weak. His head spun when he tried to stand, and his ankle hurt even more compared to this morning. He took in his surroundings and tried to remember what had happened.

Laughter, cooing sounds. A flash of a face, his hand reaching up to grab something, his hand was _chubby_ and _oh so short_ , and suddenly he was riding on a tricycle, nearly running over a baby, and then a red, angry face was looming over him.

He gasped, sorting through the rest of the memories more quickly. A quick snapshot of a birthday, him laughing as his dog leapt up to lick him in the face, school, a _normal_ life, rough housing with another boy, given the responsibility to buy ice cream for his sister-

He'd fallen back onto the bed, head spinning even more.

He had his memories back! But…how?

Newt shut his eyes, relieving the wonderful memories, when everything was still okay, there was no WICKED, he had a real _family_ , with a mom and dad, and lots of other people who spoke with the same accent he had. When his best mate-named Thomas as well, he _remembered_ -had raced him to the park, with trees and streams and _flowers_ , when they didn't have a care in the world except that they'd get a scolding from their moms when they got back home, clothes all muddy.

Those were faint though, like brief whispers of rose petals as they flew in the wind at Aunt Janice's wedding, like the flapping of bird wings as they took flight in the summer as he tried to catch one for little Lizzy. Even the name he'd been given since birth, James, felt distant to him.

He remembered the day school let out early, when the humid autumn weather became hot and dry. He remembered walking Lizzy home, laughing and dancing on the autumn leaves that crackled under their feet.

He remembered when shops closed down, the little stream in the park dried and people started to stop talking to each other in the street. Mom would keep him and Lizzy in the house, never letting them out. School never restarted. The television worked for a while, bringing in news about a new disease called the Flare before even the electromagnetic signals went out.

Little things started to go. Dad would stop reading bedtime stories to him and little Lizzy at night. Mom would tense up at every little sound. People outside the house would start banging on doors, disregarding courtesy. Dad wouldn't let Mom leave the house, insisting that she needed to take care of the two children even though he'd protested that he could take care of Lizzy perfectly well. Dad would go out in the morning, really early, like three in the morning. Newt only knew because Mom would get up and pace the house every time Dad went out. Dad's temper got worse. Lizzy nearly got spanked when she'd laughed a bit too loudly at a joke he'd told. Mom shielded them from the worst, but when the people outside started to try to break the door down and eat their own flesh, Dad started to beat them up at every little thing that displeased him. A stray giggle, a misplaced piece of paper, anything could rouse his wrath. Mom started having bouts as well, and would join him in beating up the two terrified children, but would always hug them close and whisper regrets into their ears after.

Then WICKED came. Newt didn't know how they'd found out. They came, shot his Dad first, who was having a clear day, the first one in who knew how many weeks, and WICKED cut it short with a bullet in his brain. Mom screamed at them, tried to make them go away, to leave her children alone-

Newt shut his eyes, willing the memory to leave. There weren't even any last words.

He wondered if Dad had seen red all over his family, which was why he had to hit them, to make it go away. Newt certainly felt like hitting something right now. Like those people who, upon arriving at WICKED, had immediately whisked his little sister away despite all of his pleas and screams and cries, and Lizzy just wailed for Mom, Dad, and Big Bro. They had put him in a room all by himself, and one nice lady came in and told him that they had to test him for something.

" _The Crazy sickness?"_ He'd asked.

By a miracle, he hadn't contracted it despite weeks of exposure to his parents, especially his father, who had definitely contracted it by then. They kept him, telling him that his new name was Isaac Newton, but it sounded like a big word, so he called himself Newt. He cried and refused to follow orders for a few days, asking for his parents and his sister. Three days later they couldn't stand it anymore and threatened to let him see Lizzy while they beat her up. He submitted after that.

They let him meet other kids, some younger, some older, one by one. He'd met Gally first, the other boy having a larger build than him despite being a year younger. It'd been awkward, but eventually both boys treated each other with a grudging mutual acknowledgement. Another week, and they put him in a room with Minho. That had been memorable. Minho'd strode into the room, yanked Newt who was sitting cross legged on the floor into a standing position, and said, _"Those freaks want me to tell you my name. It's Minho. What's yours? Isaac. Good. Fine. Can I go now?"_

Newt'd been indignant at being dismissed so casually by this Asian boy who looked like he wanted nothing to do with Newt. He'd grabbed Minho's shirt and screamed into his face, _"It's Newt, damnit!"_

A flicker of surprise passed Minho's face, and it turned into a full blown grin.

" _You speak weird."_

" _And you're singing out your bloody words."_

They'd become fast friends. After Newt had met ten subjects, they'd deemed him ready for social interactions and allowed him to take part in the activities scheduled for all of the kids. Only one girl was allowed into their classroom though.

Teresa. Newt lost any hope of seeing his sister ever again. He'd thrown a tantrum again on her birthday, when he'd caught sight of a calendar left by a careless official, and remembered. He had been twelve, and they hadn't hesitated to use the Pain Serum on him. Shaken, he stopped talking about Lizzy and tried to forget he'd ever had a sister.

When he was thirteen, they told him about a Maze that could save the world. They're going to put him in it on the second trip up. Minho, Alby, Gally, Nick, George, and another five are going up first. Next month, he would join them.

Uncertain and scared, Newt kept to himself for the next month, awaiting his turn. The desire to at least see Lizzy once more attacked, stronger than ever. His closest friends were gone, and the other kids had already formed their own little groups. Newt was alone. Thomas and Teresa never took part in group activities anymore as well, involved in another project of WICKED's.

A gulf separated his recently regained memories from those in the Maze. The Maze memories felt realer, had more color and sound to it. He wasn't sure whether it was a blessing or a curse.

It scared him, that Lizzy could be removed from him so easily, like she'd never existed. He wondered where she was now. He didn't remember seeing her among the Glenners after the Third Trial, but then all of them were just nameless faces that meant nothing to him. It had been ten years since they last saw each other, and there was no guarantee they would even recognize each other once again.

If WICKED wished, they could take Minho, Tommy, Alby, Chuck, all of them away from him once again, and he wouldn't be able to stop them, because he needed treatment for the bloody Flare.

Tommy and Minho were probably out there, enjoying their newfound freedom.

Bitterness and anger swallowed Newt whole, and when it spat him out three hours later, he found the simple room trashed, with feathers from the pillows everywhere. He screamed and screamed until his voice grew hoarse, and it grew into sobs. He didn't sleep on the bed that night.

 _What am I turning into?_

* * *

 _Spiraling into madness_

 _Laughing your head off_

 _The only time you ever get to be truly happy_

 _Is it worth the fight returning to the real world?_

 _In the dark abyss where you laugh and cheer_

 _Or the bright day where you get torn apart?_

 _Were you meant for the abyss all along?_

 _Were we keeping you from where you belong?_

 _Why should reality be better than the madness anyway_

 _If all it does is give you more pain?_

 _They say pain tells you you're alive_

 _But you don't want to be alive_

 _You only ask for one thing_

 _The End_


	6. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5! I think that this is starting to give you a basic idea of the plot's patterns. Next chapter I'll do Minho and Thomas' adventures in Denver. And I've been doing my best to get inside the mind of a Crank, and Crank Newt is simply fascinating. He's survived so much, been so strong, and he's certainly not going to give in to the Flare without a fight. Problem is, he isn't sure how to fight something that's part of himself.**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Seriously? I gave you feels? Wow. Just. Wow. I did it! O.O Well, I actually met a couple of really good friends through responding to reviews. Well, thank YOU for giving me something to respond to! XD**_

 _ **BookRain: Yeah, they couldn't have the subjects form unneeded attachments in my version of the story, so they took Lizzy away. Otherwise he might remember something. Never underestimate the power of love :)**_

* * *

 _Being lost in the world is scary, but being lost in your own mind is terrifying._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Five_

* * *

Janson frowned, his head hurting as he stared at the screen of the computer. Curse the damned technicians that protected Ava Paige's line so well. He glared at the cowering doctor beside him. Not even a full day into planning his takeover of WICKED, and a major obstacle had been set in his way.

"Listen." He growled. "I'm putting you in charge of tracing those boys down and removing that number from their minds. Don't let Chancellor Paige know, or I'll have your hide. You are to work from the base. I'll put you in charge of a few cronies who will keep an eye on you simultaneously as well. You either figure out how to override the safeties in their brains' chips, and _remove_ that memory, or I'll throw you into the Maze myself. Ava will not arrive to rescue you even if you beg."

The doctor nodded, and scampered out of the room, eager to escape Janson's overbearing presence. Janson took a deep breath and a deep sip of coffee before standing as well.

He had work to do.

* * *

Newt awoke groggily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and letting out a small yawn before stretching his sore body and looking around blearily.

The feathers, scattered around the room. The sheets, ripped apart, as if torn by a wild animal. Dinner dripped off the walls and stained the bed.

Newt let out a soft, broken cry as he remembered what he'd done. He wished they'd hurry up with the bloody Cure. Where was that prototype they'd mentioned?

As if granting his wish, the door opened to reveal Dr. Hong, whose eyes widened a little at the state of the room but said nothing. "Mr. Newton?" She asked cautiously.

"I'm sane now." Newt grumbled as he got up. "More testing this time or a proper Cure?"

"We already administered Prototype 60 yesterday, but it didn't work. Today's Prototype 61." Dr. Hong informed him. She tilted her head curiously. "Dr. Janson neglected to inform you?"

"He said a Cure Prototype." Newt was suddenly numb. 60? How many had they gone through before he entered the treatment program? How many more would they have to go through before they finally found a Cure? Would it be too late by then?

Dr. Hong frowned. "I will need to reconfirm with Dr. Jones. I was not aware that you didn't know. They need to respect Consumer Rights and the Medical Statute-"

"Thank you, but I don't think they even bloody care about that. I don't remember being asked my consent when they killed my parents and dragged me here away from my sister." Newt found that pouring it out helped. It soothed the roiling anger, a cool balm against the heat of the blistering fever.

The doctor lowered her head, a frown on her face. Newt couldn't help but feel touched that at least someone in this god forsaken place cared, even if she was employed by WICKED.

"They put me on your case a couple years ago, when you were first brought in. I was always watching you from the screens, studying your brain from the scans, but never had the chance to meet you in person. I didn't know, and I never thought to check. I'm sorry for that. The other boys…?"

"Same, as far as I know." Newt recalled Minho calming him when he yelled for Lizzy, telling him that he missed his grandparents too, Gally rolling his eyes at him and saying, "You think you're the only one who lost someone?".

Dr. Hong's frown deepened, but just then they reached the door from the day before. It slid open smoothly after she swiped an identity card through it.

The room looked the same as the day before, with only a few pieces of equipment missing. Equipment that, Newt suspected, had been involved in returning his memories. The other doctor, Doctor Callestan was already there, a vial of liquid in his hand. Light glinted ominously off the surface, and Newt shuddered.

"We need to run a customary checkup to purge your body of unwanted chemicals." He informed Newt coolly, gesturing to the table. Newt obediently laid down and tried to stay still as they ran wands over him and told him to carry out a small series of stretches.

"No unusual pain anywhere?" Dr. Hong asked. Newt shook his head. His ankle's pain was usual for him.

Dr. Callestan was frowning at the readout on the screen. "You're dehydrated, and there's nothing in your stomach or small intestines. Did you eat anything in the past twenty four hours?"

Newt frowned, thinking back. He remembered Jorge telling him to not have anything in his system the day before. He remembered hours lost into the abyss, and resurfacing to find dinner strewn all over the room. He didn't remember breakfast being prepared for him though, or it was probably on the walls with dinner.

"No." He finally said.

Dr. Hong opened her mouth, but Dr. Callestan gave her a look. "Make sure to eat something after we administer this." He ordered. "We would like to give you something now, but it would interfere with the digestion of Prototype-61, and we don't have time. Dr. Janson ordered that we have to administer this now."

Newt nodded. He didn't feel particularly hungry or thirsty anyway. Dr. Hong was biting her lip, obviously disliking the idea.

"This is to be taken orally, and I've no idea how it will taste, so try to drink it all in one gulp. We''ll give you water to rinse out your mouth, then we'll return you to your room where you can rest and eat when food is brought in." Dr. Callestan said, handing Newt the vial.

Newt looked at the liquid. "I'm the first test subject for this?" He asked, hesitating.

"…yes." Dr. Callestan looked uncomfortable. "But to our knowledge, it wouldn't kill you."

Newt laughed bitterly, and downed it.

Dr. Hong handed him a glass of water, and he gulped it down as well, hands shaking. He was told to lie down as the doctors put a wristband around his wrist.

"The chip in your brain should be sufficient, but we want to be safe. This alerts us to any external signals your brain may not be receiving." Dr. Callestan informed him. The doctor looked weary and sad. It suddenly struck him that these doctors had been working themselves to death just to help cure humanity. They were all striving for something, even if they were going about different ways, different directions.

"I'll take you back to your room. Dr. Callestan will inform the kitchen when you're ready to ingest food." Dr, Hong said, opening the door. Newt got up, not feeling any different, and followed Dr. Hong down the hallway. There were no clocks, he noticed. Just fluorescent lights and pristine white hallways.

His room had been cleaned up, and this time there was even a stack of books and notebooks on the desk, along with stationary. New clothes were there on the bed as well. Dr. Hong left him in there, casting one last worried look at him before closing the door.

Newt entered the shower first, dumping his filthy clothes in the basket by the door. He washed off the grime, and pleasantly noted that he hadn't had a fit at all today, as the water washed the tension out of his muscles. He scrubbed his teeth clean with the toothbrush and toothpaste provided, and cautiously fingered the stubble on his chin before shaving it off.

Finally feeling normal and human, he stepped out of the shower and put on his clean clothes. So far, so good. Dinner hadn't been brought in yet, so he decided to try writing something. Not too much, WICKED would probably read it. Then again, they were already inside his head-did privacy even exist anymore?

He picked up a pen, frowning as he stared at the blank sheet of paper, wondering what he should fill it with. He touched the tip to the paper, watching ink spill out in beautiful curves as he wrote. His hand shook a little, unused to writing after three years in the Glade, not having much occasion to write, but he still remembered how to shape his letters.

 _My name is Newt. My name was James Barnes. My sister was named Elizabeth Barnes. I call her Lizzy._

He nearly punctured the paper with the pen when he put in the full stop after Lizzy. He had been calm and rested earlier, almost peaceful, removed from the world. But a sudden hot burst of anger had come on, and he couldn't see straight. He stood, flinging the chair to the side and crumpled up the paper in his fist. It didn't seem enough, and the red was still building, layers and layers upon him. He kicked the bed, but it didn't move. He let out a wild scream, turning around in the room, wanting to _hurt maim kill_. The furniture gave no reaction, and it riled him. He needed to see someone's face contort in pain, to feel the warm, twisting bodies under his grip, to feel flesh caving under his fist. He curled and uncurled his fists, pacing the room with heavy steps.

Something warm trickled down his fingers.

He brought his hand up, staring at it in fascination. Wonderful, real red. Red that flowed, red that thrummed with life along with his heartbeat.

Newt's face twisted into a grin. A wild grin of a ferocious beast. He slammed the bathroom door open, striding over to the sink to get the razor. If he couldn't hurt someone else, hurting himself would be a poor substitute, but a release nonetheless.

* * *

" _He's being awfully clearheaded for someone in the middle of a bout." The red headed doctor whispered, mesmerized. Dr. Hong shifted uncomfortably in her chair._

" _Brain patterns showed that we have successfully been able to stimulate the parts of his brain responsible for logical thinking, and keep them active while the Flare shut down the other parts. However, the chemicals intended to stimulate the prefrontal cortex were insufficient. It might have even played a part in activating this bout of insanity, since it stimulated his emotions and he reacted to his sister's name, but it was in insufficient amounts to keep it stimulated throughout the entirety of the bout. We will have to up the dose." Dr. Callestan provided a short explanation, already typing at his datapad._

" _Wait." Dr. Hong leaned forward. "He's…coming back. On his own."_

* * *

He gripped the razor so hard that his knuckles turned white. He pressed it to his skin, drawing blood, a thin line.

" _I swear, you shucking shank, that if you hurt yourself once more I'm going to do it with you, if you won't let me stop you." Minho jabbed a finger into Newt's healing ankle, and he hissed angrily, drawing it away._

 _As if they'd rehearsed it, Alby calmly took a knife and stabbed downwards, towards his own ankle-_

" _NO!" Newt screamed, lunging forward and catching the hand that held the knife, forcing Alby to drop it. "You bloody stupid shank, what do you think you're doing?! Are you seriously stupid enough to-"_

" _Just as stupid as you are, shank." Alby growled at him. "What do you think was different from your attempt to kill yourself?"_

 _Minho clapped a hand to Newt's back. "Get the picture? You hurt yourself, we'll play along and follow your example."_

" _I didn't want-"_

" _-us to hurt ourselves?! We don't want you to hurt yourself either!" Minho bellowed, making Newt wince. "Point is, we're there with you, alright? If you're happy, great, we're happy. If you hurt yourself, then we're shucking going to hurt along with you. One time deal. That's what friends are for, right?"_

 _Newt swiped at his eyes, and let out a chuckle. "You sound like you're saying a marriage vow."_

" _Wha-no! Friendly vow!"_

 _A brother's vow._

Newt dropped the razor.

He swayed on the spot, everything crashing on him. What he had wanted, what he had enjoyed in the few minutes before he returned to himself.

He crumpled down by the toilet bowl and threw up.

* * *

Thomas watched, face impassive, as the young man started to climb.

"It was expected," Dr. Janson was saying beside him. "Results garnered from years of observation and tests have concluded that he would be bound to reach this end eventually. Now, look. Remember Subject A10? He tried suicide as well, except that the method he chose, staying out in the Maze overnight as a volunteer was seen as being more heroic. Note the brain patterns and how they differ. Subject A5 chose a more violent method, so his brain patterns are mostly focused in the prefrontal cortex, while Subject A10 had calculated his chances and left a way out if it were not for the Grievers that got him. He had plenty of time to mull things over alone. A more logical approach. However, the underlying patterns stay the same, the loss of hope and yearning for death has stimulated chemicals to be released…"

Thomas sent a Beetle Blade scurrying towards the subject for a close up. What he saw made his heart wrench suddenly.

The blond was crying. Silent tears slipped out from his open eyes as he climbed higher and higher.

"Emotional conflict. The brain patterns indicate that he is accessing his memories, probably of the other subjects who would mourn." Janson explained.

 _WICKED wouldn't. It was expected, after all._

And they still dumped him in that Maze, knowing what it would do to his psyche.

Thomas remembered Newton. They hadn't been allowed to interact often, since as special subjects Thomas and Teresa were mostly kept away from the others, except for lessons. He had been difficult but submissive once power was exerted. Weak, Janson had said. But Thomas also knew that sometimes it takes a different kind of wisdom to pick your battles.

 _Teresa._ He called out. _I need to do this._

"Dr. Janson?" He heard Teresa's voice call out from another computer in a moment. "Beth's brain patterns are a bit unusual, she just got in another fight with Sonya, but it usually doesn't stimulate such strong responses from the brain. Is it related in any way to some recent experience?"

Janson patted him on the back. "Keep an eye on Subject A5. This is a very interesting event, and three long years of testing have only brought us to witness two."

He hurried off.

Thomas turned back to the screen, pretending to focus on it as Janson walked away. Once the footsteps faded, Thomas' fingers flew over the screen, tapping here and there. Twenty more minutes until the sun goes down and the Doors closed. Newton had indeed picked the best time. If he didn't die from the fall, no one would have enough time to go in and bring him back to the Glade.

Thomas watched through the Beetle Blade's eyes as Newt let out a breathless laugh, finally reaching the end of the ivy. His fingers tapped faster.

There was nothing he could do to prevent the fall.

But he would do his best to keep him alive.

Just as Newt let go, the Griever rounded the corner and retracted everything, cushioning Newt's fall with its goopy body. It wasn't enough, and Thomas winced as the screen showing Newton's brain patterns lit up, wavelengths shooting by fast until finally, it retreated into the steady lines and spikes of unconsciousness.

Finally breathing, Thomas sent to Griever back to its original position.

 _Aris is buying time now._ Teresa suddenly spoke. _How much time do you need?_

 _Albert is coming right now._ Rachel. _Another five minutes and he'd be there. Injury assessment?_

Thomas sent the Beetle Blade closer. _He wouldn't be able to walk, I think._

 _Janson is heading back. Leave the Doors to us._ Aris said.

Thomas shut down the Griever program as Janson returned, a wide smile on his face. "How was the display? Any interesting information?"

"Yeah. Lots." That WICKED didn't care for their subjects. That they had to lie and cheat and hack programs to save a life that shouldn't need saving in the first place.

"Well, the sun is going down soon in the Glade, and I suppose you would like to retire now as well. Good night."

"Good night, Dr. Janson."

"And?" He prompted.

"WICKED is good."

* * *

 _They were watching...the entire time._


	7. Chapter 6

_**If no one has guessed yet, this story is going to be mainly focused on Newt because he's my favorite character. Sorry to those who would like to see more of Minho and Thomas, even Gally, but I'm just writing them to move the plot forward. You'll see more of them if they ever get to reunite with Newt! Oh, and shoutout to Maze Runner Junkie, the constant reviewer!**_

 _ **DustyBooks: Ooooh! I've read both your fanfictions, and both sent shivers down my spine! I thought your penname was familiar. You seemed to be having some trouble with the formatting though…do you need any help? And your fanfictions both involve Thomas Brodie Sangster, which is an amazing coincidence (or not). Update soon!**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Noooooooooo, how could an author be sick of reviews?! Thank you for kindly reviewing, I use your reviews for fuel sometimes XD That idea had been there for some time, and it didn't really turn out the way I wanted it to, but I'm glad you liked it!**_

 _ **Peacock Girl: I remember you! I read The Life Cure, it was a really great fanfiction, and a satisfactory fix it. Other fix its aren't as logical and real as yours. Will you write more? As for the scene you liked so much…it's my favorite in that chapter as well, especially because it kind of wrote itself, it was just so easy. Words were just pouring onto the page and I could see and hear everything. It's an amazing feeling.**_

* * *

 _The sun is gone._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter 6_

* * *

"Do we return?" The young, Hispanic man asked the silent girl beside him. "It's a Code Blue."

"The highest emergency code Janson can activate." The girl murmured. She cast a glance at the door leading to the other rooms in the Berg, to two young men to be specific. "How much time before we arrive?"

"Two hours. Not enough time to say it had been too late."

The girl lowered her head and thought hard.

 _You're not her._

Her eyes gleamed as they met the man's. "We go on the run with them. We cheated and lied to them, it's only fair. Humanity must at least keep some of its dignity."

The man smiled sadly. "To be able to uphold our moral codes."

* * *

"We are throwing away everything that signified human civilization!" Dr. Ronda had tried to go against WICKED's Maze Trials from the very start. She was an Immune, one of the first doctors to rise up against WICKED's ethics.

She had been Dr. Hong's best friend and confidant. People had joined her, most Immunes, then a few non-Immunes willing to risk WICKED's protection against the Flare.

They had disappeared one day, never to be heard of again. The protest had never touched the higher levels. The lower levels stood to lose nothing, and they have a clearer sense of right and wrong compared to those who have lied and cheated to get their way into a position of power.

Dr. Jones had known and said nothing. He didn't question them.

"If there're no humans left, what use are our morals then?" He'd asked bitterly. "Ms. Rowling is responding unsatisfactorily. The lack of companionship is eating away at her. Females have always shown more inclination to be with a companion, and more prone to feelings as well. The Flare is only feeding on all those. Even last night's...she's reached the conclusion that harming herself as an acceptable substitute for harming others and would've killed herself if Dr. Janson hadn't finally allowed intervention. She was sedated after that, and her body is still dealing with the side effects of the chemicals-some are extremely poisonous, as you know. How did Mr. Newton react to Prototype-61?"

"His memories were stimulated, probably in reaction to a suicide attempt carried out during the Maze Trials. That was probably what made the prototype effective since it snapped him out, but it took the wrong stimulant for that to happen, so we're testing Prototype-62 on him today, on the orders of Dr. Janson." Dr. Hong didn't attempt to hide her distaste. Last she observed the subject, about three hours ago, he was still retching and shivering, pale and feverish. Dinner remained untouched. His second day without food already. At least Dr. Callestan had made the decision to rehydrate him during the night with an IV drip. Testing was scheduled in three more hours, after the customary tests and double checks were run on the prototype.

Dr. Jones sighed. "I received the same orders. His labs are relentless, coming up with prototypes every day. I see the necessity of it, but still…I wish that it was easier on the subjects."

 _Don't we all._ Dr. Hong sighed mentally, observing the mixture of chemicals that seemed to glow as it heated over the Bunsen burner.

* * *

Minho was not expecting the welcome they received at Denver to be numerous posters of their faces _everywhere_. Even Brenda and Jorge had posters dedicated to them.

"We need to get cover. Now." Brenda hissed, yanking everyone into a dark alleyway.

"What's all this?" Thomas looked as bewildered as usual. "Why are they-they agreed to let us go!"

Jorge looked solemn. "We need to tell you something, _muchachos._ On the Berg, we received a transmission. We were ordered to return you to WICKED. It was a Code Blue."

Minho opened his mouth to ask questions, but Brenda cut him off. "WICKED changed their mind about allowing their children into the real world, apparently. We did not anticipate them to move this fast, to alert Denver so quickly."

"We need a disguise." Thomas finally said, eyes darting wildly around, already beginning to look cornered. "Any cash? They might be able to track us with those cards."

"We should try those more shady stores. Those less likely to make a deal with WICKED." Jorge frowned. "Denver had been fighting to get out from under WICKED rule, but apparently it had made no effect."

"I'll go. You two shouldn't go anywhere. Your names and faces are _everywhere._ Cover story, I'm Peony, he's my brother George. You two are our friends, Cameron and Jun Yong. We're buying these for kicks. That's what teenagers do." Brenda rattled off a story and names.

Jorge didn't stop her. "Be careful."

Brenda left, blending into the people, not moving too close to any of those posters with her face on it so that no one would be able to make the comparison easily.

"And now we wait." Jorge said, making himself comfortable on the floor. Minho and Thomas followed suit. "Pretend to be high on drugs or something. Just look like you belong."

Thomas completely ignored Jorge's advice after twenty seconds when he saw a familiar face drift past on the street. The pace was hurried, like everyone else, and the cap was pulled low over his face, but Thomas knew that it was Gally.

Gally, who killed Chuck.

Chuck, the little brother he never had, whom he had made a promise to and that he had failed to keep.

Minho saw as well, and Thomas had risen halfway, wrenching away from Minho's grasp and breaking into a quick trot towards Gally. Jorge looked alarmed, and got up quickly, following after Thomas, cursing under his breath. Minho broke into a sprint, and the Keeper of the Runners was yanking Gally into the alley with them within seconds. No one bothered to help. It looked more like a mugging than anything else, and the threat of the Flare had made everyone detached, drifting through their lives. Only a few people were on the streets, staying home, hoping for the safety four walls could provide.

"We thought you were dead." Thomas breathed, turning Gally's pockets inside out. A scrap of paper fell out, and Thomas retrieved it.

"How did you get here and how?" Minho hissed sharply as Thomas read the note. "WICKED?"

"No!" Gally's breathing was fast and panicked, probably due to the fact that the person who had nearly killed him before had slammed him against the wall and was breathing down his neck. "I'm not with WICKED! The Right Arm-they're who I'm working for!"

"Quiet a little, muchacho." Jorge wagged a disapproving finger at him. "We don't want any more attention than necessary."

"Guys." Thomas waved the scrap. "Have a look at this."

Jorge took it from him, and read it out loud, softly. " _Explosives ready. Blueprint and layout of WICKED building expected in three days._ "

Minho looked at Gally. "An uprising against WICKED?"

"An uprising against WICKED." Gally's trembling reduced, but he could only manage a few words.

Thomas stepped forward, looking into Gally's eyes. "We'll let you go on one condition. You bring us to the Right Arm. We give them our information. They will listen to our opinions. They will give us shelter and resources. They will not turn us in."

Gally smiled. "Deal, shanks."

* * *

"Get up."

Newt was dragged roughly to his feet. The hands let go, and he nearly fell over again, the support lost.

He tried to take a deep breath, but choked on it instead, doubling over and hacking to get air into his lungs, but those hands yanked him upright again. He could feel cool skin against his own warm skin, and shivered a little.

He was sick.

Not crazy sick, as in the Flare, but the body cannot function properly sick.

Newt would think that WICKED did this on purpose, to weaken him. After all, the last bout of the Flare madness hadn't been pretty. But then again, on the first day of testing, Janson had mentioned not wanting any other chemicals interfering, so this sickness probably came on by itself.

The hand was yanking him forward, and his head hurt. The man was rough and impatient, and he nearly fell a few times. The overly bright corridors of WICKED made him want to close his eyes for a moment, but it seared through his eyelids.

His breath was hot, but the rest of him was cold. Newt miserably wondered if they were still going to carry out testing today. He'd rather this time was to treat his illness.

He heard Dr. Hong's sharp intake of breath when he was shown through the door. He didn't even try to muster a smile. Judging from Dr. Callestan's frown, he must look really bad.

"The chemicals are still in his bloodstream? The scans-" Dr. Hong motioned for him to sit on the examination table. He winced as the cold seeped through his thin white pants.

"The chemicals are gone. It damaged his immune system though, and not having any food for the past two days has been degrading it as well. I would like to say this is a normal bacterial infection, but..." Dr. Callestan lowered his voice. "Dr. Janson's labs are giving out the prototypes too fast. One a day? That's impossible. He must've skipped the mandatory tests."

Dr. Hong paled. "Even the Safety Tests?"

"What?" Newt interrupted before his brain could stop him. The doctors were getting engrossed in their conversation, and if Newt just kept quiet, he could've found out more. But his body wasn't really cooperating today anyway.

Dr. Callestan glanced over at him. His impassive mask softened. "Rest up. This next one is supposed to be injected straight into your bloodstream, so I'll say it's safe for you to eat a little porridge. Plain though. Nothing other than carbohydrates."

Newt swallowed. Eating didn't feel like a good idea right now. Then again, he was tired and cold, and carbohydrates should help. Dr. Hong went out, presumably to get the porridge.

"Why am I sick?" The words escaped his mouth before he could stop it, again. He sounded like a child, even to himself, and he wished that he could just get better and far away from this place. Prototype-62 today, and who knows how many more. He'd rather take the quick death. He didn't want to be that mouse again, running around in circles at the scientists' whim and finally being taken to be tested and prodded at their wish.

Dr. Callestan looked at him, straight in the eye. His eyes were a pleasant brown, homely and warm. It surprised Newt, since his opinion of him had been the cool, impassive one who only wanted to do his job.

"Truly? I can only guess. Dr. Hong is in charge of your brainwaves, and Dr. Janson of the chemical composition of the prototype, and I'm only here to observe. From what I can gather, the chemicals meant to stimulate your brain have been absorbed by your body in the process of stimulating, instead of being excreted like it was intended to. An unfortunate side effect, and frankly, it may very well cost both your lives. Subject B7 is doing better than you, since you were more successfully stimulated due to personal experiences, and more chemicals were absorbed by you. I told Dr. Janson that theory, but he said to go ahead with Prototype 62."

Newt blinked at the sudden onslaught of information, and his brain started to hurt again. "Why…?"

"You have a right to know. Ava Paige believes that there will be an end to this. Janson is desperate for a cure. And I…" His eyes flickered, sad for a moment. "I wanted to help people get better."

The doctor suddenly looked so sad and old that Newt wanted to comfort him.

"WICKED is good." He said, lost in his memories. "I believed that. I worked hard. I mapped patterns, theorized about the blueprints, and helped build it, in part. But when Thomas, Teresa, Rachel and Aris came, they were young, full of energy and ideas. They were geniuses, yes, but they couldn't see fully the consequences of their actions. They put the Maze Trials on the table, and followed up with the Scorch Trials, as a backup. Janson loved the idea, and designed the Third Trials. No one thought that all three would have to be implemented. And now we've run out of ideas."

"You shanks did the math and figured that losing us wouldn't be a big deal, compared to the thousands of millions out there, right?" Newt laughed, feeling his chest constrict. "I would say it's a good idea if I hadn't been one of those sacrificed. You did what you thought was right."

Dr. Callestan looked startled for a moment, then smiled. A true, genuine smile.

"You are the Glue, all right. Dr. Hong chose that name for you, you know? It fits you perfectly." He leaned close to Newt's head, and whispered, "A Code Blue was activated sixteen hours ago. Five hours ago, communications were shut off. Janson wants the subjects back. A2 and A7. He doesn't want us inside here contacting people outside, but we don't know who. Stay strong, alright? Things will change soon."

Newt stiffened. If what he was saying was true, then Dr. Callestan had put himself at a great risk by telling him information that sounded like it was supposed to be classified. And Janson wanted Thomas and Minho back. If the doctor felt the need to tell him that much, and that Thomas and Minho might as well as be on the run right now…

Death could very well be approaching.

* * *

" _Amelia. Mary. Florence. Rachel." Joanne whispered to herself as she rocked back and forth on the examination table, waiting for the injection. Dr. Jones looked at her with a tinge of regret visible on his features, but didn't say anything. Dr. Greene was biting her lip, undecided._

 _Amelia died, crushed by the Maze walls. She was the first Greenie they had._

 _Mary died, choked to death by one of the Stung Glenners. She had been a caring Med Jack, but let down her guard one day._

 _Florence, the Stung Glenner who attacked Mary. Executed as punishment._

 _Rachel. Murdered by Beth._

" _Caroline. Natalia. Jennifer. Siti Sarah." Left behind in the Glen, refusing to follow Rachel and Aris. Dead by now as well._

 _And with a whisper, Joanne whispered the last name on the long, long list of the dead. "Joanne."_

* * *

 _But I have a light._


	8. Chapter 7

_**I may or may not finish this earlier than planned. I originally wanted to do twenty chapters, but things are going a bit too fast. Maybe I'm going to add in a subplot. As for the drabble below, I've this weird headcanon that Minho married Newt's little sister Lizzie. Then again, that drabble does not exist in this universe! So don't get your hopes up or down just yet.**_

 _ **Response to review(s):**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: You're the only one that reviewed last chapter. And I love you for it! Thanks for your constant support! Yeah, that drabble with Joanne was one of my better works, I think XD**_

* * *

 _Whatever you do, never run back to who broke you._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Seven_

* * *

"We will bring down WICKED."

Thomas had been waiting for these words, even before he knew that there was a resistance group against WICKED, without his knowledge, deep down in his subconscious, he had been both dreading and anticipating these words.

Minho leaned forward. "We've got a friend in there, receiving treatment from WICKED. We are not giving you any information if it means you're going to be killing him indirectly."

The leader gave a short bark of laughter. He got up and rounded the table to face Minho, staring him straight in the eye. "Your friend is a control." He stated, humor evident in his tone. Thomas clenched his fist. Newt was still a touchy subject for both him and Minho. Jorge observed everyone apathetically, arms crossed.

"Both of you are still so…green." The man shook his head, taking a step backwards. Minho reeled backwards slightly. The adjective green reminded them of the term they used to address the newbies in the Glade, Greenie. " _I_ have the Flare myself, and I still want WICKED to go down. I don't care even if one of their countless Prototypes stand a chance of delaying the Flare. I've seen test subjects escape from their Crank Village. They're…let's say that if your friend dies fast, it'll be a blessing."

Thomas slammed his fist on the table. "They said they could help Newt! Treat the Flare, slow it down, receive the first Cure…" He sank into his chair. "We told him to go with them even though he wanted to come with us." His voice broke.

"Countless Prototypes. What do they do?" Minho was shaking. It had to be a lie, it had to be. The Right Arm could be lying to garner their support, but then again, who could they trust in this world? WICKED could be lying about Newt's treatment. They should have demanded to see Newt, maybe stay with him until they're sure about what sort of treatment he was receiving. And then…

And then what?

What could they really do against WICKED? What could they really do against the Flare?

If it really came down to it, and Newt was gone, could they really pull the trigger on their own Glue?

"The few Cranks that escaped from the Crank Village in our direction and actually made it across the Scorch to reach here and be intercepted by us numbered three. The first was a previously strong man, probably picked because of his physique, but he wasted away before our eyes. Wouldn't eat or drink anything, clutched his head and yelled at anything, even the ants who tried to get near. He died after three hours." The man, no, Vince, said solemnly. "We couldn't get any information out of him. That was four years before, around the time your Maze Trials were initiated."

"The second one came after three years. Rosalie was just a teenager, and surprisingly coherent. We gave her food and drink, and we even dared to hope that she'd been cured. She told us that WICKED had been testing people in her village for a long time, taking them away one by one. She said that they started taking teenagers after all the healthy twenties were gone. She gave us information, much more than we hoped for. We found out that Ava Paige had authorized testing to be carried out on the Cranks, and they're testing prototypes on them at intervals of months, sometimes more frequent, sometimes nothing for two, even three months. She said that they had injected something into her the day before, which made her feel strong, better than she had ever been, and she'd felt empowered enough to escape." A petite woman said from the other side of the table. "The next day, she was a Crank, already past the Gone after eight hours. We locked her in her room, but she broke out somehow and killed three of our people before we could finally…put her down."

Gally's face was ashen. He'd never gotten along with Newt well, but he wouldn't wish that fate upon the only person with whom he could bicker with and still not harbor any hard feelings towards him later. No one had told him about Rosalie, or the first subject.

"And the third one?" Thomas asked.

"A little girl. WICKED didn't test anything on her. She came two days ago." Vince's sharp eyes found Thomas'. "WICKED just let them go. Said they didn't need them anymore. Told them to scatter as far away as possible. And I think I know why."

Minho's knuckles were white as his nails dug into the flesh of his palm. "They've got new toys. Newt and the girl from Group B."

"Exactly." The woman said.

Vince didn't say anything, just waited as Thomas and Minho struggled to come to terms with this new information.

"They could be lying to get the information needed to take down WICKED." Thomas couldn't hide the hint of hope in his voice. They might not have left Newt to an unknown fate. Newt could be okay already right now.

"Or they're right and WICKED lied. It wouldn't be the first time." Minho sounded weary.

"We could ask them to give us proof. As an exchange. They get us to WICKED, to Newt. We see if they're doing him any good. We decide then. _With_ Newt." Thomas suggested. Vince was looking away, pretending not to hear.

Minho considered it for a moment. "Sounds good."

Thomas told Vince about their proposal, since Minho had given his consent. Vince hummed an agreement. "You need to at least give us some first though. Like a down payment. We can't very well infiltrate WICKED blind."

"Get your brain chips out first." Gally suddenly spoke. "It blocked your memories, and a lot of information alongside. And we wouldn't want you to suddenly go berserk on us."

"Like what you did with Chuck?" Thomas spoke coldly. Gally claimed that WICKED had controlled him to do that, but Thomas wasn't sure what to believe anymore.

Gally flinched a little, but met Thomas' gaze. "Like what I did to Chuck."

Thomas opened his mouth to say that they didn't want any more people messing with their brains than necessary, but shut it. What if they made him kill someone as well?

"Who's the doctor in charge?" Jorge finally spoke.

"You don't have to know his name." The woman said. "He goes under a lot of aliases."

"Hans." Jorge stated.

Vince's gaze snapped upon him in surprise. "How did you-never mind."

"You know him?" Minho asked, surprised.

Jorge cast a look at him. "Brenda and I were originally going to take you to him ourselves after taking care of disguises. It was the second top priority on our list. We were there when the scientists made Gally shoot you and made Chuck move in front of you as well. They might have felt unsafe controlling you in an environment they've no control of, since they don't want their most important test subject to wind up dead, so they've refrained from acting thus far. But WICKED is reaching into Denver, and once they deem you're in a safe situation to be controlled, they'll not hesitate."

Thomas felt like fireworks had gone off in his brain. Chuck hadn't even meant to take that bullet for him. He'd been murdered, not sacrificed. He didn't even have a choice.

"I say we do it." Minho said flatly. "I've had enough of their poking around in our brains."

Thomas nodded blankly, giving his wordless agreement.

No one should die for him again.

* * *

Seizing control was no small feat, but Janson was proud of how far he had come in the past few days.

First, he'd assured Ava Paige that he would take care of everything, leaving her to concentrate on the blueprint. He played the role of the unassuming second in command, who was just removing unnecessary distractions as the leader of them all put all of her precious energy and time into their largest project yet.

Secondly, after Ava Paige was out of the picture, he started authorizing documents and trials, to assure the lower levels of his power and authority. He had the labs work overtime, so that they would feel like he was actually making progress.

More progress than Ava Paige, at any rate.

And finally…the subjects.

Unlike Ava Paige, Janson believed that the secret to the Cure lay in testing chemicals on the subjects, then adjusting the dosage, test again, until they finally got it right. The old fashioned trial and error method, although slow, guarantees results.

Once they yield results, Janson could drop the farce entirely and claim the credit for saving the world. Hope would flare anew again for humanity, and they could rise up again. And in this new world, Janson would be hailed as the hero.

Recorded in history textbooks, be in the bedtime stories parents tell children. He'd surpass everyone the children were named after, Thomas Edison, Isaac Newton, Amelia Earhart, all of them would fade in comparison.

Everything hinged upon the subjects being tested again and again, prototype after prototype. He would have to finish before Ava Paige does.

"Is Prototype-63 ready?"

* * *

No. Air.

Newt choked and hacked, globs of spit and blood splattering onto the bedsheets. He'd been feeling sick even before Prototype-62, and after it was injected it had only been getting worse. He'd been coherent enough to return to his room, but ever since the black started to spread from the injection site, he had been coughing up random globs of weird stuff. The little food he'd had before the injection had been expelled.

No one had come to give him more medicine, so Newt assumed that his life wasn't in danger yet. He certainly felt like he was dying, though.

He missed Minho. Alby. Tommy. He wished that they could come back and get him, far, far, away from this place, but Dr. Callestan had mentioned that Janson was trying to get a hold of them, and it that case, they should stay away.

Sometime during the night, when he was in between periods of drifting in and out of consciousness, someone had come in and hooked him up to an IV. Newt was too tired to even care that he was now completely at WICKED's mercy, that they could be pumping Prototype-63 into his veins for all he cared. Why should he care? He was now just a puppet, needed only for his brain patterns, for the Flare he carried. Living held no meaning for him anymore.

Before the Maze, he had wanted to be a doctor. He wanted to help people.

The doctors in WICKED kind of destroyed that ideal.

In the Maze, he wanted to find a way out. He failed, and punished himself by jumping.

When he was the second in command, he had only wanted to keep order, keep things running smoothly, keep everyone alive and laughing. And he had done well, until Thomas came along and accomplished what Newt could not.

In the Scorch, he had tried everything, would have tried anything, to get everyone across safe. Only eleven remained of the sixty, and Newt had to force himself to keep going, to hold back all the tears and _be strong_.

And now, under WICKED's control, Newt wanted out.

Newt never wanted to be the leader. It was a position given to him only because Alby got stung, and he was all too happy to pass it on to Minho when WICKED tattooed their respective roles on the back of their necks. He was the Glue, and Newt rather liked the idea of that.

But now there was nothing to stick together, and the Glue was going to dry up all on its own.

Newt hacked one last time, and warm liquid splattered out on the bedsheets. He leaned back, heaving deep breaths, finally able to drag air into his lungs. The sheets were stained and dirty, blood running in rivulets down until they were finally absorbed. Newt remembered his promise to Minho and Alby and wished that he hadn't made it. At least he could go out on his own terms, if he was going to die anyway.

Or he could keep to the true spirit of the promise and fight.

Why had Dr. Callestan given him that information? That Janson wanted Minho and Thomas, that communication had been cut off? What did that mean to Newt?

Newt's head hurt. He was thinking, actually thinking and making plans, solving puzzles. And he felt alive, in a way that he hadn't felt in a long time. He was actually doing _something_.

Communication had been cut off.

After Code Blue had been released, Janson had felt no need to communicate with the WICKED bases outside. Last he remembered, Chancellor Paige wasn't on site right now. Janson had probably sent people out to hunt for Thomas and Minho, since he was sure they wouldn't come back without a fight. He must have complete faith in the loyalty of his workers.

Loyalty…?

Newt almost growled in frustration at the slow speed his brain was working at. The answer was just there, almost…

Warm liquid trickled across mouth and chin. Newt blankly brought up a hand to his nose and it came away slicked with blood. A new wave of dizziness hit, and he suddenly coughed out a spray of blood, splattering across the sheets.

What the shuck was it doing to his body?

Newt panicked, looking up at the ceiling, trying to find any hidden cameras, trying to appeal for help. Finding none, he swung his legs out of the bed, needing to move, to try to get out, to get help, to stop whatever this was. His body was betraying him, he couldn't control it anymore, it had no strength left, it refused to listen to him-

A chill came over him as his grip failed him and he knelt on the floor on heavy legs.

He wanted Minho and Thomas back in his grasp. He forbid any communications out, communications that could warn Ava Paige.

Janson was planning on taking over WICKED.

* * *

" _Daddy! Daddy!" The little boy yelled, flying down the steps of the wooden building and towards his father, who was smiling at him. "Guess what Miss Donovan taught us today!"_

 _He grinned playfully. "History?" He asked, knowing that it would just irk his seven year old son._

" _She teaches History every day, Daddy!" The boy pouted. "No, I'm asking if you know which part of History she taught us today!"_

" _I don't know, son, how would I know if you don't tell?" He teased, though already knowing perfectly well which part his son was referring to. He had been just as excited when he was little. "Let's start walking and see if you can finish before we get home."_

" _She taught us about the Maze today!" The little boy's eyes practically sparkled. "And she says that my great granddad was a hero!"_

" _Oh, so you learned about Thomas and his friends?"_

" _Uh huh! Great granddad was the Keeper of the Runners! That's so cool! And she said he had tons of friends, but he was best friends with Newt and the other one…"_

" _Thomas."_

 _The boy nodded vigorously. "Thomas is cool and the biggest hero. Miss Donovan says that he was the one who saved everyone and took them out of the Maze. But Newt was the Second Boss!"_

 _The man tried his best not to laugh. "Did she get to the part about the Scorch?"_

 _The boy shook his head. "She said tomorrow. I really look forward to learning it though, Daddy!"_

 _The man ruffled his son's hair as they approached their home. "Yeah, it's a nice story. Sometimes it's sad though. Now run along, your Mummy is waiting for you in the river. You need to have your bath."_

 _The boy pouted, running off._

 _The door opened to reveal an elderly man just as the man ascended the stairs to his house. "I heard a lot of ruckus out there. Chang Hong's home?"_

 _The man took his father's arm and led him gently inside the house. "No, that's Wen Jie. Chang Hong's school hasn't let out yet, he has longer hours because he's older."_

 _He was dismayed to notice a flicker of confusion on the old man's face at the name of his younger son, but said nothing. He then noticed that his father had a small box on his lap. He frowned. That box had been there ever since Thomas had passed away, when he was still six. It had just appeared the day after the funeral. Grandfather had forbid anyone near it, and he'd gotten a beating when he tried to peek. He never liked grandfather after that, and didn't shed a tear at his funeral two years later. The box had been passed to father, but habit stayed, and he didn't attempt again._

" _Why did you take it out?" He pointed at the box._

 _Father stroked the box. "You were his favorite grandchild, you know."_

 _Grandfather had many children with grandmother, seven in total. He still kept in touch with some of his cousins, but the others lived too far away for a simple walk, and people were still working on rebuilding the advanced transport system humanity had before the world was shot to hell. And since they were still working on reinventing birth control devices, that left grandfather with a total of thirty three grandchildren, last time he checked._

" _Why?"_

 _Father ignored him. "He wanted you to have this after me."_

 _He quirked an eyebrow. "Really? He beat me up for trying to touch it!"_

" _You made him remember something he wanted to forget." Father's eyes were suddenly clear, piercing him right through the core. "Remember your name. Remember while you read this." He held the box out to his son. "Take it."_

 _Suddenly feeling curious, he opened the box to reveal a note, written in shaky handwriting. The paper was yellowed with age, and it was one of the rare types that was created in a factory._

 _ **Kill me. If you've ever been my friend, kill me.**_

" _My name…?"_

" _This note was written by my uncle, your great uncle. You were the only one to take after him, after seven children and thirty grandchildren with black hair and eyes. He didn't live to see Lydia or Richard's births. You reminded him of Newt. When you were born, he was the one who named you after him."_

 _That explained why Thomas had never entertained him like he did with other children. Every child loved to hear the story of Thomas the hero, but whenever he had tried to get close, Thomas would go pale and leave._

" _I understand." Newt folded the note back into the box, pressing a kiss to his father's forehead. "I will treasure this."_

 _His father let go of the box, and smiled._

 _ **Forty years later.**_

" _Give this box to your grandchild when he's old enough." Newt rasped, pressing the decaying box into Wen Jie's trembling hands. "Name him Newt. Not after me."_

" _After Granddaddy's best friend, I know." Wen Jie assured his father. Newt smiled, and closed his eyes._

 _When the next baby with blond hair and startling brown eyes was born, he was named Newt, and the box was given to him with the same, careful instructions when he was nineteen._

 _The legacy passes on._

 _Newt will never be truly dead._


	9. Chapter 8

_**Climax almost there…almost there…**_

 _ **I estimated twenty chapters, but I'm going to cut this down to eleven, maybe twelve. I put too many things into one chapter, and didn't go into as much detail as I would've liked, but hey, my muse is working good, so nothing to complain about. I might do another story after I finish this one, but depends-I'm involved in a state level competition and exams are after that, so yeah. Plus I really want to read the Fever Code before starting a new story but I've to wait for my friend to buy it. And he's not going to until next year. But look out for one shots!**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **DustyBooks: Thanks! I saw that you updated Fever Dreams, but didn't get around to reading it yet. And yeah, whenever I read stories formatted like that, I tend to skip over a lot of words and just read the key points, so a lot of awesomeness is lost. Are you uploading files or just typing straight into the Copy-n-Paste section whenever you upload a document?**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Thanks! I like the idea of Newt's name being passed on, because obviously tons of people are going to be naming children after Thomas, since most Immunes there were saved by him, and Minho obviously played a huge part, but the majority of Paradise's population have never met Newt. So it's up to the others to pass it on.**_

 _ **Peacock Girl: Ooh, you still want Newt to live, then. Well, I've a surprise for you at the end-wait for it XD And actually since it's a given that Thomas would most probably end up with Brenda, Minho would probably form a bond with someone who's been through similar things, who can understand him, and so that leaves the girls from Group B. Then he would find out one of them was Newt's sister, and since all the girls from Group B regained their memories, curious and stinging from leaving Newt behind, he would ask about Newt, dredging up every memory she had. Then tada, love forms and then marriage. XD**_

* * *

 _One lives in the hope of becoming a memory._

* * *

 _Prototype: Chapter Eight_

* * *

"It needs to work!" Janson stared hungrily at the screen as brain patterns spiked and fell. "Why isn't it working?! It's been the sixty third prototype already, something has to change! Trigger the Flare, anything!"

"Sir. The subjects are too weak-" Dr. Jones tried to explain, but got shut off.

"You don't understand! Nobody understands!" He yelled in frustration. "We need to save the world and time is trickling away! _Hope_ is going away!"

"Sir." Dr. Callestan tried. "Both subjects are too weak to experience any sort of extreme emotion, and the previous prototypes have slowed the Flare down, so it's highly unlikely that we will be able to trigger the Flare."

Janson turned on them, and the wild glint in his eyes made all the scientists take in a sharp breath. Rumors had been floating around, theories were formed, but now, in this brief, terrifying moment, there was no doubt that Janson had contracted the Flare.

"Whose body is in better condition?" He hissed out.

"Subject B7 is currently conscious and pacing around her room, sir." Dr. Greene kept her gaze trained low on the floor, between Janson's boots as she spoke.

"Subject A5 is currently kneeling on the floor unconscious in a pool of his own blood, sir." Dr. Hong tried to keep the venom out of her voice. Dr. Callestan shot her a warning look.

Janson glanced at the digital clock on the wall. It was ten in the morning.

"Have Prototype-63 administered to subject B7 now." He decided. "Subject A5 can wait, but the prototype must be administered latest by four o'clock."

Dr. Hong knew that arguing was useless. The fact that he extended the time by six hours for Newt was already a miracle by itself.

Newt.

When had she started to call the boy by name?

"Oh, and do not enter the room to disturb subject A5." Janson reminded after Dr. Jones and Dr. Greene were gone to fetch their subject. "Give him food and refill the IV drip, anything to prevent him from dying on us, but we must minimize contact. There's no way to know if the prototypes would make the Flare mutate and by then even you Munies won't be safe."

A shudder passed through Dr. Hong as she bowed slightly. "Thank you, sir. I shall keep that in mind."

* * *

Thomas opened his eyes.

"What-"

"They had to sedate you. Man, you sure hit hard, shank." Minho rubbed the bruise forming on his cheek. He grinned at Thomas. "Welcome back to the world of the living. They used more morphine on you than necessary because they wanted to make sure that you stayed down until the thing was completely removed. Wouldn't want you to get up and start kicking the klunk out of Hans with your brain half opened."

Thomas got up and felt his head. No brains exposed, thankfully.

"Do you remember?" He asked Minho. Already memories were returning, but slow and steady, a trickle. He remembered WICKED as his earliest memory. Before WICKED, he could only remember flashes and glimpses. A warm voice, calling him Stephen. Sunshine and butterflies. His own pudgy hand reaching out to grasp a calloused one.

"I remember." Minho's gaze became faraway. "The world before the Flare. My grandparents, my parents. My homeland. Another language I never fully mastered before WICKED took me away."

Thomas suddenly felt a flash of envy as he realized that Minho had gotten the chance to experience more of the world before the sun flares, since he was born earlier. But then Chuck would probably be born somewhere in the middle of the entire apocalypse, among the first of an entire new generation who would know nothing but the scorching plains and Cranks.

He suddenly felt the need to store those memories of warmth, butterflies and cheesecake away in a treasure trove.

"Well, done reminiscing, shank?" Minho stood, and stretched. The sun rays spilled into the room through a dirty and cracked window. Thomas scrambled out of the bed as well, following Minho's long strides as he led them out of the room.

"Where are we going?" Thomas hurried to keep up. Despite being out of the Maze, Minho was still as good a Runner as ever.

Minho rounded another corner, bringing them abruptly into open air. Apparently the door had gone missing.

In front of them was numerous Bergs, people bustling about, prepping equipment and rushing about, yelling orders.

"What-" Thomas walked out, looking left and right, soaking in all the new information his senses were receiving.

"Thomas!" A voice yelled, and Thomas turned to find Brenda running towards them, a huge smile on her face.

"Brenda?" He exclaimed in surprise, and maybe a little happily, before he realized that he was supposed to be angry at her. Beside him, Minho was sighing and shaking his head, but he couldn't hide the little smile on his lips. "How did you find us?"

Brenda shrugged. "I went back to the alley, and you weren't there, so I figured that something happened and you had to move, so I went to Hans, since I figured that Jorge would take you there, according to our original plan. When I got there, you were crazy. Saying, 'WICKED is good' non-stop like that…Jorge and I figured that there had been some kind of failsafe, but none of us expected that failsafe to give us several bruises. We're lucky we managed to keep you away from the knives. Minho went after you were done, and his failsafe activated as well, but this time we were prepared and managed to subdue him without much trouble."

"And the correct amount of morphine as well. Seriously, I think that dumped a whole bucket of that into your system, you were out so hard." Minho grinned wolfishly.

"Well, Jorge just sent me to tell you to get ready." Brenda informed them. "And write down those WICKED plans. The Right Arm is sending in a whole fleet of Bergs, since they're quite confident you'll prove their theory right. So the plan is to drop you two off in a single Berg, and you are to infiltrate the WICKED base quietly. Vince will be going with you. When you prove them right, then you give him the plans and contact us to tell us that we can divulge all of our information, he adjusts the minute details of his plans according to the new information, then we take down WICKED."

"Actually from what I can remember, the most I'll be able to give them is just a floor layout, which you two can provide anyway." Thomas confessed. "The only thing I have that you two don't have is knowledge of the blueprint building and…Ava Paige…" He trailed off.

"Her phone number." Minho said suddenly.

"We'll give it to you." Thomas looked at Brenda. "Do you have a pen? I'm going to write it down."

Jorge handed over a pen, and Thomas grabbed Brenda's hand and scribbled the number down on her palm. "Careful not to smudge it. From my memories, Janson was a nasty shank, but Ava Paige was genuinely trying to help. Call her if…well. Call her when the right time comes."

Brenda withdrew her hand and stared at the numbers for a long time. "I understand." She finally said.

Minho shook his head again. "You shanks wanna go get a room?"

"No, thanks." Thomas could feel his face burn. "We should go."

"Bout time you realized that, shank." Minho slapped Thomas upside the head. He nodded at Brenda. "Lead the way."

Brenda tossed a grin at Thomas before leading them through workers and Bergs to reach an inconspicuous Berg by the edge of the compound. "Vince is aboard already. The rest of the fleet will leave later, so now it's just you three."

"Great, it's going to be a party." Thomas heard Minho mutter, but they ascended the ramp without making much fuss.

Vince emerged from the cockpit. "I saw you through the cam feed." He explained. "Ready to go?"

Minho eyed him dubiously. "You are piloting? I'm not tiptoeing around any feelings here, so pardon me, but you're a Crank!"

"And a better pilot than any of you Munies." Vince retorted. "Let's get rolling. Help yourself to the weapons in that room, and some sweet equipment too. Oh, and eat up if you feel like it. Might be our last meal. We've eleven hours to get there, so just do whatever you want."

Vince disappeared into the cockpit, and Minho cocked his head at Thomas. "Well?"

It was seven in the morning. They would arrive at eight, when darkness would take over.

* * *

Twelve o'clock.

"Subject B7 is showing signs of blood poisoning." Dr. Jones reported. There was a slight tremor in his voice. "Dr. Janson, permission to-"

"No. Let this play out. It could be just Stage One of healing. Maybe it'll purge the Flare somehow." Janson looked thoughtful, reading an article printout on how snake venom can be used to create cures. None of the doctors wanted to know what would be inside the next prototype.

On screen, Joanne hurled again onto the floor. She let out a hoarse, broken croak of a sob.

Newt remained motionless, as if he were just a dead body.

* * *

Minho and Thomas looked at each other for a moment, then pounced upon the pizza.

"I call dibs on the largest slice!" Vince yelled from the cockpit.

* * *

One o'clock.

"Her vital signs are going haywire!" Dr. Greene raised her voice a notch, a bit desperately. "If we don't do something soon, she'll die!"

"Quiet." Janson snapped, observing the live feed of Joanne as she lay twitching in the bed, almost comatose.

Dr. Callestan remained silent, observing Dr. Hong as she bit her lip, keeping an eye on Newt's feed.

The boy hadn't given as much as a twitch.

* * *

"Hey, shank. What will we do when we get Newt out of there?" Minho asked quietly.

Thomas paused in the action of drawing his diagram. "We can all go away somewhere. Somewhere safe, away from WICKED, away from the Flare. We could bring some people along, Brenda, Jorge, Gally. Run away from everything."

"Newt's not gonna be the same." Minho reminded.

"I…don't know." He admitted. "He still has the Flare, right?"

Minho looked troubled. "If he still has the Flare, but is still sane, I think I know what he'll ask of us."

"What?" Thomas asked curiously.

"Never mind." Minho quickly shook his head. "If he asks what I think he'll ask, don't do it."

* * *

Two o'clock.

Dr. Greene ran out of the room.

"Send someone in to perform CPR. If there's no response after ten minutes, bag the body." Janson said.

Joanne lay on her side, hands wrapped tightly around her own neck, veins bulging.

Newt opened his eyes and promptly spat blood onto the floor.

* * *

"Get some sleep, shank." Minho said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.

"No."

Thomas couldn't stop worrying. He had helped devise a few of the earlier prototypes, and thinking back on it, he knew that it wouldn't do any good to the body. Newt might already be dead, for all they knew.

"You aren't doing any good writing down all of those equations. We can figure out how to help Newt feel better if he's sick when we get there, but most importantly, we need to have to strength to carry him out."

To carry a corpse out, Thomas thought.

* * *

Three o'clock.

"Is Subject A5 ready?"

"No, sir. His condition is worsening. Permission to-" Dr. Hong tried, but knew there would be no use in asking.

"What, make him more comfortable? No. We'll send someone disposable in later to inject the prototype. You two stay here and debrief Dr. Jones and Dr. Greene on the subject. I'm reassigning them from Subject B7 to Subject A5." Janson absentmindedly clicked through a series of brain patterns. _Joanne's_ dying brain patterns.

"Sir! The prototype is-" Dr. Jones tried.

"Subject A5 has proved more responsive to the prototypes. Take for example prototype 62. It succeeded in helping him regain his sanity, but had no such effect in Subject B7. We'll have to study the brain patterns further to determine the cause, but for now we will have to test this prototype on him, so that we can compare the last brain patterns Subject B7 had provided." Janson froze the brain patterns on the screen, looking at them.

Dr. Greene stifled a broken sob.

* * *

Minho ran the blade of the knife across his finger. It broke his skin with a gentle touch, and Minho strapped it to his thigh, satisfied. He looked at the couch, where Thomas lay, sleeping.

He smiled ever so slightly, went to another room at the far end of the Berg.

He shut the door, took a deep breath, and sobbed his heart out.

* * *

Four o'clock.

"I shall deliver the prototype to Grant." Janson rose. "Observe closely the reactions in the subject."

Dr. Callestan moved the second Janson left, to a corner of the room where the security cameras barely managed to pick up. Dr. Hong took a brief glance at the monitor, her heart wrenching as she saw Newt struggling to stand, supporting himself on the bedframe.

"Listen here." He said in a low voice. "I know this Grant fellow. I've told him to stall as long as he can. You take my access card and get Newton out of here. I've been working on programming it to mimic Janson's access authority since Prototype-61. When Janson returns, I'll try to bluff him with the footage I've gotten from before, plus a little editing, so try your best to not set off any alarms. Take him to a vehicle, Berg or truck or whatever. Bring a first aid kit and basic necessities. Make sure he lives out his last few months in peace."

"What-"

"I know you feel as much compassion for the kid as I do. Take this, it'll explain more. Read it when you have a clearer head and not running for your life." He pressed a note into her trembling hands. "Now go."

Dr. Hong finally found the courage to speak. "Janson will have your head." She hissed angrily. "Literally. You know what he did. He cut off access to Paige, to any outside powers, not that there're any that can stand against WICKED. He doesn't have morals anymore. And people are desperate for a Cure. You won't survive, Luke."

Dr. Callestan smiled. It was a smile of someone truly at peace with himself. "The note will explain my next course of action. Go. Time is of the essence now."

Dr. Hong pocketed the note and took the access card. If he put it that way, then he probably had a backup plan for himself already. They had lost precious minutes arguing, and she would get to Newt in time. "See you later, Luke."

"See you later." Dr. Callestan smiled.

When the door slid shut behind Dr. Hong's back, he turned back to the computer and started the slow, daunting task of hacking WICKED's system.

Unnoticed on the screen behind Dr. Callestan, Newt pulled open the door of the bathroom, panting lightly, blood starting to trickle from his nose again. But he grinned in victory as he picked up the razor from the sink to add to his small weaponry of pens and one dictionary.

* * *

Vince decided that he could put the Berg on autopilot for an hour, with one of the boys watching over it. He walked out of the room, to meet Thomas coming in from another room. Seeing Vince come, he hastily put a finger to his lips in a 'shh' motion.

"Minho's crashing in there." He explained softly. "We should let him rest."

Vince nodded. He suspected that the kid needed more than physical rest. "Watch over the controls for me. I'm going to get a quick nap, refresh myself, eat something and gear up. You should do the same after I come back. Tell the other boy to do the same."

"Alright." Thomas agreed.

Vince turned away, and briefly tried to build a picture of the boy these two were so insistent on saving. He never thought to ask about him, but he imagined someone with soft features, a bright smile, eyes that held life and sparkle in them.

With a start, he realized that he was thinking of his own dead wife, Jenny.

Before she died, the features of her face had hardened and twisted garishly, her smile had become monstrous and creepy, and her eyes spat fury and hatred.

Vince wasn't sure how the boys would react to whatever monster they would find there.

Because it wasn't going to be whoever they cared for so much.

Four more hours to go.

* * *

" _They did it!" His mother screamed in joy and delight, lifting Luke and spinning him around even though he was already seven, much too old for this. And yet he couldn't stop grinning._

" _Stop it, mom!" He started to grin, guessing what it was._

" _They did it they did it they did it!" His mother chanted, and his father hugged him tight. "You aren't going to die, son."_

 _Luke's eyes widened, truly absorbing what it meant. "No more hospitals."_

" _No more hospitals." His mother agreed. Her smile was earsplittingly wide. "No more injections. No more cancer for the world!"_

" _You need to thank them, Luke." His father said. "They're the ones that saved your life."_

" _I'm not sick anymore." Luke said in wonder. "Granny and grandpa both thought it was a death sentence."_

" _Well, they beat death." His mother laughed jubiliantly._

" _Who are they though?" Luke suddenly thought to ask. "I have to find them to say thank you!"_

" _They are the doctors." His father said, ruffling his hair. "They heal. They make sick people better. They chase the sickness away and bring back health for us."_

 _Luke contemplated this as his mother rushed about the room, packing all the evidence of Luke's two month stay in the hospital. His father waited patiently, smiling at his son. He could spend an eternity looking at his child, thought lost but regained._

" _I want to be one." He finally decided. "I want to make sick people better too."_

" _And you'll be a very good one." His mother pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Our little Dr. Callestan."_


	10. Chapter 9

_**This chapter is sort of a filler, but sort of not a filler. I'm just putting everything in place now for the big showdown. Which decides whether Newt lives or dies. I'm not sure whether I can fit everything into the next chapter, so it may be split into two chapters. Anyway, I provided a Prototype-canon insight into Janson's mind at the end of this chapter, but it's very poorly done. I didn't get to do much research into the mind of a psychopath…**_

 _ **There were two guests, so I'll just display your reviews so that you can identify which is your reply. Hope you don't mind!**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Guest:**_ This is such a good story line I've loved reading it so far. Also like what you've done with gallys character can't wait to see how this is gonna pan out! :)

 _ **Reply: Thank you! I've always pictured Gally as the tough love kind of guy, but isn't exactly a hero-he wants to live, and he doesn't care how he does it, so he's not above pleading and mucking around someone's feet either. Despite what he may want them to think, he still cares, and regrets what he did to Chuck, even though he didn't really have any choice.**_

 _ **Guest:**_ mg this is getting so tense i actually can't wait for the next chapter! Where do you get all these amazing ideas from!? Xx

 _ **Reply: I…don't really know either XD The idea started out as Newt having prototypes being tested on him, so on a whim I wrote the prologue, then I read Bittersweet and started to have a clearer idea of how I wanted the story to go, so I just went off writing, adding in little plot bunnies here and there, fleshing out the story. Thanks for your praise!**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Hey there! Did I really put that much suspense into each chapter? I hope not…reading is supposed to be relaxing, after all XD Sorry for the late update, but I hope this chapter can make up for it!**_

* * *

 _Those we love don't go away. They walk beside us everyday…unseen, unheard, but always near. Still loved, still missed, and very dear._

* * *

Prototype

Chapter Nine

* * *

The door slid open with a hiss, and Newt whirled, trying to keep his balance with the razor pointed towards the intruder. Only now did he realize how pathetic he looked, as he caught a sideways glance of himself in the mirror. A shaking boy, pale as a sheet of paper, holding out a tiny razor in front of him. WICKED would come with guns and strong, fit men.

But he would not go down with a fight, Newt decided, craning his head to get a better view of the intruder.

"Newt." Dr. Hong called softly, and it startled him. He didn't drop the razor, afraid that her friendliness was just another WICKED manipulation, another farce.

"Newt!" More urgently, and he heard footsteps coming towards the bathroom. "We have to go. Just come with me. I'll try to get you out of here."

Newt remained frozen in his position, unsure of whether he could trust her. Dr. Hong found him before he could decide, and gave a visible wince as her eyes settled on him. He was dimly aware that blood has started to trickle from his nose again, and he was actually starting to get used to that sensation.

"Put that razor down, okay? Trust me. Luke…Dr. Callestan asked me to get you out of here. Janson is crazy, Newt. Subject B7-Joanne. She died from Prototype-63. Janson still wants to test it on you, so we have to get you out now. Just follow me, out of WICKED. Then you can stop trusting me, go our separate ways. But please. There's no time."

Newt wasn't good at making split second decisions, not ever since they had started feeding him weird things. All that thinking just made him hurt more, and he'd figured that the bleeding was caused by thinking too much. Every time he attempted to use his brain, he would feel dizzy, and if he did that for too long, then he would get a nosebleed. It was frustrating him, and he dimly wondered whether nosebleeds were sufficient to kill a person.

So this time, he let his instincts make the decision, and his instincts trusted Dr. Hong.

He gave a brief nod, and put the razor into the small backpack he had fashioned out of his bedsheets.

"Good." Dr. Hong said, handing him a pill. "Adrenaline pill. Lasts for thirty minutes. Let's go."

Dr. Hong opened the door, and Newt swallowed the pill. She started to run, and Newt had little difficulty keeping up with her, partly because she was so obviously out of shape, and partly because she was acutely aware of the state his body was in, pausing every now and then to look around the corner and to allow him a brief respite. Newt used the edge of the bedsheet to try to mop away the blood coming from his nose, which had slowed a little, so that it wouldn't dot the floor and leave a trail for someone else to follow.

It was all going well, at least until they reached the Berg hangar.

"Ah, no." Dr. Hong breathed, looking at the WICKED guards which congregated in front of each Berg. "They didn't bother with capturing us inside the building. They just blocked off the exit."

"What now?" Newt panted, leaning against the wall, head tilted upwards, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood.

Dr. Hong seemed to struggle with something for a moment, before finally coming to a decision.

"Do you mind visiting the Maze again?"

* * *

"I hope you realize what your selfish actions cost humanity." Janson said coldly, advancing on Dr. Callestan, who was in the grip of two of WICKED's guards, a triumphant look on his face despite his bedraggled situation. "If not for my quick thinking in blocking the exits, we would have lost a precious experimental subject, the only one remaining."

"And one you were determined to kill." Dr. Callestan replied coolly. "You were prepared to test a prototype that was confirmed potent enough to take Subject B7's life on Subject A5. We had no choice."

"No choice but to shut down the entire security system and have your partner remove him somewhere else? No choice but to delete all the data we have, that we built entirely from scratch?! No choice but to destroy all the hope that humanity has left?!" Janson was practically frothing at the mouth.

"Chancellor Paige has copies of those data, Dr. Janson." Dr. Callestan's eyes bore into him. "Contact her and have her give you a copy. You can do that, can't you?"

Dr. Callestan had caught him. Calling Ava Paige now, would be admitting weakness. It would mean reopening communications. It would mean halting the process of taking over, and if someone used the reopened channels to inform Ava Paige, Janson's career would be shot to hell. But without the data, any attempt at a prototype would just be a shot in the dark. Whatever chance he had of finding the Cure before Ava Paige was close to zero.

Check.

Janson's breathing was heavy as he slapped Dr. Callestan in the face. Dr. Callestan winced, but said nothing. He had won.

Then Janson's breathing steadied, and a mad glint appeared in his eyes. Dr. Callestan took a sharp breath. He turned to the skittish scientist behind him who looked ready to bolt at any second.

"Rivera." His voice was cool and calm. "Deliver a message to the labs. Ask them to come up with every last combination of prototypes they can. We are going to have one last shot at this. Maybe it'll bring back hope."

"What are you planning to do?" Dr. Callestan had a horrible feeling dawning on him.

Janson's grin was almost feral as he turned back to his prey, Dr. Rivera fleeing out of the room behind him. "Why, I'm going to recapture Subject A5. And test all of the prototypes left on him."

Janson was going to go down with a fight, at the very least. Maybe he would be lucky, and hit upon the Cure with a lucky guess, instead of those built on data and inferences. But Dr. Callestan knew what that would mean for Newt.

More testing. More lethal chemicals. No proper care, no regard for his health. And in Janson's madly driven rush for a last minute Cure, to manage it before Dr. Paige found out, Newt would most likely be dead.

 _Get him out in time._ Dr. Callestan prayed, to the God of his younger days, to the God who had delivered a Cure for his cancer in response to his parents' prayers, but had done nothing about the Flare. _Please, get him out in time._

 _Or kill him if they get their hands on him._

* * *

"Stop it, shank, you're making me nervous." Minho said from his perch by the window. Thomas stopped fiddling with the gun, and put it down slowly. Vince was still asleep, and Thomas didn't plan on waking him for another three hours, when they would almost be there. He didn't feel like sleeping any time soon, having been sorting through all those bittersweet memories of him and Teresa's younger days.

"Have you ever wondered what happened to Teresa and Aris?" He asked slowly, not daring to look at Minho. He knew that Minho hated them just as much as he did, probably even more, but it was because of how they hurt Thomas that he hated them. However, Thomas felt that Minho's hate was a bit too directed, not giving them a chance to explain, but if he voiced those thoughts…

"Why do you even care what happened to those shuck faced pieces of klunk?" Minho asked distastefully. "They were probably all cozy with WICKED already, maybe even oohing and aahing over our brain patterns together. I hope Newt doesn't have to see them while he's there, or he might just go crazy right then and there."

…that's what would happen. Thomas sighed internally, but Minho caught his slight slump of the shoulders with a sharp eye.

"You aren't seriously sympathizing with them, are you?" His voice was hard, grating. Thomas winced.

"No. No! I was just wondering if we could pull them over to our side, you know, have a little extra help. They both knew Newt, they might be compelled into helping-"

Truth to be told, he wasn't sure what he wanted to think of Teresa, and Aris who had been her accomplice, but the feeling of the need to defend her whenever Minho made one of his cutting remarks about her was there, and it told him that no matter how much he may want to, his heart wasn't letting go of Teresa any time soon.

Minho snorted. "If they really wanted to help Newt, they wouldn't have stuffed us all into that Maze in the first place. They probably knew what it was going to do to him, with all of those klunk-" He stopped abruptly.

Thomas froze, digging around in his half formed memories for a reference.

Newt. Subject A5. Janson talking casually about his psychological analysis, possible brain patterns to be harvested once the Gladers lost their Glue-

"You all right there, shank?" Minho leaned forward. Thomas leaned backward, away from him, fighting the urge to run away as flashes and images forced themselves upon him.

A falling figure. Desperately dragging out the time the Doors closed, precious seconds obtained by doing everything short of jamming the controls. Blood. So much blood and tears, a leg that wouldn't ever be the same-

"No." He said hoarsely. "No. Oh, God. Newt."

Minho's expression turned cold with realization. "You were watching."

Thomas buried his face in his hands. "I watched!" His yell was a broken whisper. "We knew! What it would do to him, what the Maze would do to all of you!"

The reminder that Thomas had been one of the Creators, one of those people who had put them in the Maze, suggested the Scorch Trials, inspired Janson to create the Third Trials. That he had been one of the causes for Newt's death wish.

"Did you know?" Minho grabbed Thomas by the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the control board. At least he was careful to not press any buttons. "Before the Maze?"

"Yes. They had these tests-looking for signs of who would break first. A5 scored highest. They wanted to see what reactions would take place." Thomas was almost crying. "What patterns we could get. _We needed the patterns!_ "

It was quickly becoming something always on the tip of his tongue, ready to be used as an excuse for something terrible he had done.

"I don't care for your shuck patterns!" Minho screamed, bringing a fist down on Thomas's face. His nose broke with a crack and a sharp bolt of pain shot through it. He accepted the pain, his penance.

"I'm sorry." Thomas gasped.

"Sorry doesn't cut it! You didn't see Newt, you didn't see Alby, you weren't there when Alby broke down while the Medjacks talked about bringing Winston in to help saw off Newt's leg if it came to that, when Newt woke up halfway and screamed the entire Homestead to hell while they were resetting his leg!" Minho paused for breath, his grip tightening on Thomas' shirt. His gaze softened. "You didn't see how he scolded us to quit arguing minutes after he came up. He was the first Greenie, you know. You didn't see him when I took him into the Maze for the first time. You didn't watch him plan the first campfire we ever had in the Glade. When he took the next Greenie under his wing. You never saw his smile, heard his laugh, hugged him tight! You watched, but you didn't see!"

Minho was right. Thomas never saw. He only had a very basic impression of Newt, from classes, from Dr. Hong's decision to call him the Glue. He saw potential patterns to be collected from the Control. He watched the Control, making friends, taking charge, climbing to reach his death. But he never saw Newt for the person he was.

Until he entered the Maze. Memories wiped, a clean, blank slate, without WICKED to poison him this time. To see humans instead of subjects, see personalities instead of brain patterns.

"I'm sorry, I really am…sorry…" Thomas heaved through sobs, and Minho let go of him, anger abating at the pitiful sight of Thomas crying his heart out on the floor. Saying nothing, he turned and left.

Thomas remained on the floor, curling into a ball, his task to watch over the Berg forgotten.

He didn't want to be Thomas any more.

* * *

 _Hope._

 _Janson felt that these days, he was the only one who could fully understand the significance of that tiny, four lettered word._

 _Didn't they see how precious hope was? Maybe even more than a Cure, for as long as there was hope, they would continue on, plowing away relentlessly at the labs, finding new possibilities, new ways, and eventually, by the law of statistics, they would be sure to find a Cure. Hope would keep them going, keep them alive._

 _So why was it that everyone was so insistent on him giving up his quest for hope?_

 _Ava Paige hindered him, setting minor obstacles in his way, but hope would find a way to overcome that, and Janson had used it, using the Chancellor's naïve hope that Janson would listen to take control of his WICKED base._

 _Jorge and Brenda, Thomas and Minho had sent a huge wave to drown hope, but it was no matter-he had his boat ready, the Prototypes were lifesavers._

 _Then Subject B7 died. It was a waste, a pity, but Prototype 61 had proved that she had far lesser reactions to the prototypes compared to Subject A5. Their greatest asset yet. Janson wondered why he hadn't thought of using him sooner._

 _But the greatest blow towards hope was when Dr. Hong and Dr. Callestan had gone mad and decided to snatch humanity's last ray of hope away from him._

 _It was preposterous. Hope was vital towards survival._

 _But hope would not be defeated easily, and Janson was hope's conductor, almost like a prophet._

 _He would get Subject A5 back. And with him, rekindle humanity's dwindling hope._

 _All that stood in his way shall die._


	11. Chapter 10

**_Clarifying: Teresa and the others didn't escape to the Right Arm, instead they relocated to another WICKED base with Chancellor Paige to do the blueprint work. Janson's base is focused on prototypes, so they had no reason to remain there._**

 ** _AU drabble at the end, I think you all know what happens after that drabble._**

 ** _Climax almost there! I almost regret making Thomas and Minho move so slowly, but then it gives me more space to put everything in place at WICKED. Nasty surprise waiting for them there XD Three more hours to go._**

 ** _Response to reviews:_**

 ** _Dusty Books: If you just type in the Copy-n-Paste section I guess you would have to hit Enter twice to make a good sized split between paragraphs. Word does that automatically though. Don't die yet, I want you to finish reading my story!_**

 ** _Maze Runner Junkie: Thanks! I liked that part too-so emotionally charged! The more emotions, the easier it is for me to write-weird, I know._**

* * *

 _If you fight, you might lose; if you don't fight, you've already lost._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Ten_

* * *

WICKED workers methodically spread out, leaving a few to guard the exits, and then starting to comb the corridors of WICKED with a fine tooth comb, starting from the ground floor, cutting off all means of escape, then working their way up.

There were four floors, the ground floor being the one generating power, where the lower levels worked, and the one that remained in touch with the outside world, importing supplies and acting as garage for the land vehicles. The Berg hangar was in another building, but the corridor that led to it was connected to the ground floor as well.

The first floor contained the rooms and kitchen, where everyone stayed. It provided a lot of good hiding places, if nothing else.

The second floor had the labs, the place where the real work took place. Here, scientists and doctors alike worked feverishly together, trying to obtain a Cure, or create a new Prototype. They were divided into sections though, from different departments, under different commands. But the chain of command always had Ava Paige at the top and Janson as the second in command.

As for the top floor, that was the Maze.

They had constructed an exit to the Maze, through the Griever hole. That exit lead straight to a walled off section of the storage area on the ground floor, and led off to the back of the building. It had been constructed specifically, inaccessible from all other sections to create the illusion of having seen the entire ground floor. There were backup buses kept there, in case the first bus to transport the subjects malfunctioned.

Dr. Hong hoped that with it being inaccessible unless it was through the Maze or circling around the building and its compound, which was rather large, again designed to create the illusion that the subjects were truly out in open space and free, the guards wouldn't get to it that fast.

They just had to beat the jeeps and trucks currently making their way out of the front and around the compound. Or hope that Janson wouldn't think of sending people up into the Maze.

"Do you have more of those?" Newt asked her, slurring his words slightly as she led the way through the boxes and crates to the elevator. She was pretty sure that almost every WICKED guard loyal to Janson would have been used to guard the exits and close in slowly, meaning that as long as they remained hidden, they would still have time and not fear meeting one midway.

"Of what?" She whispered, deftly setting the controls of the Box to normal speed.

"Those pills." Dr. Hong looked back at him as she stepped back, waiting for the Box to arrive, praying that no one would hear the noise, and realized just how pale he was. Blood stained the sheet he was holding to his nose, and a thin trickle of blood was coming from his mouth as well. His eyes were starting to look bloodshot.

She rummaged around in her pockets. "Careful," she warned, handing him another. "You don't want to take too much of those. Your body always knocks itself out after an adrenaline dose, to make up for the energy. And you aren't in best shape right now, and I don't want you to go to sleep and…never wake up."

Newt looked at her with tired eyes. "At this point, I just want to know if I can survive long enough without the adrenaline."

The Box arrived, and Dr. Hong quickly hustled Newt in, shielded by crates. The doors closed soundlessly.

Temporarily safe in the Box, Newt shakily sank to the floor. Dr Hong knelt down beside him worriedly. "I've no idea what was in the last prototype, so I'm sorry, I can't give you any morphine or painkillers."

"It's fine." Newt waved her off. "You're helping me, though I don't know why. You put us into the Maze in the first place, didn't you? And now you're bringing me back there again." He laughed humorlessly.

"I'm sorry." Dr. Hong whispered quietly. "Truthfully, if it wasn't for Luke-Dr. Callestan, I wouldn't have dared to take the first step in freeing you either. I'm not brave, never have been. When some people realized what we were doing was wrong, they tried to stop it, they held protests, they filed reports and-and I did nothing. Not even while they all disappeared, one by one. Not when my friend was taken."

The Box jerked to a halt.

"I'm terrified right now." She said, standing. "I'm not good at running. Not good at fighting. Just your average person. I'm not a hero. Not a martyr. But I am doing my best right now."

She looked at the opening of the Box, taunting them. She looked back at Newt, who despite his bloody and bedraggled appearance, had a smile on his face as he stood, slowly, achingly.

"I'll give you a leg up. Welcome to the Glade, Greenie."

* * *

Five o'clock.

Minho still wasn't talking to Thomas.

That ugly shuckface doesn't deserve it. He shucking _knew_ and still put them all in there! He had deliberately sent Newt to his death-to see their brain patterns falling apart without their Glue, he said. They saw the results, they decided it would be good to put him in there still, to let him _die_ , just for their shucking brain patterns. Thomas probably watched for the seconds, minutes, that trickled by as Newt climbed higher and higher to his death, and _did nothing about it._

The betrayal he felt this time was much deeper than when Teresa had shown up with a bunch of shucking girls from Group B and kidnapped Thomas. Probably because he thought he could trust Thomas, that they were in this together, that what Newt had said about only the present mattering was true.

But Thomas had done terrible things. In the past, and the effects were still lingering to the present. How could he ever trust him again?

Newt. Alby. Nick. George. So many. Chuck. Whom Thomas had mourned himself, but Minho realized with a chill that Thomas probably had a hand in planning his death before he entered the Maze.

Everything had been engineered. Planned. By Thomas himself.

Minho resisted the urge to go back in the control room and throttle Thomas again. He hadn't emerged since an hour ago, when Minho left him in there, sobbing pathetically. He didn't know how he would be able to resist shoving Thomas off the Berg, without the parachute when they arrived, or that he would be able to stand five minutes of creeping through WICKED's base, _Thomas'_ base, without fighting with Thomas.

If only Newt was here, to placate him. To talk sense into him. To tell him that everything was alright, and strengthen that belief he had felt burning so strong in him that day, after Newt had reassured Thomas about his past.

Shuck, he missed Newt.

Minho let out a long sigh.

Words spoken so long ago, coming to life.

" _They call me the Glue. But what am I when there's nothing to stick?"_

" _We'll manage without you for a while. But when we come back, falling apart at the seams, then you can be the one to glue us together again."_

They were doing more than falling apart at the seams. This was betrayal, to the deepest. Like shards of glass, crushed beyond repair.

Even Newt would have trouble fixing them this time.

* * *

Janson flicked through the security feed, frustrated. There were over three hundred security cameras in the WICKED facility, and even when he narrowed them down to those detecting motion, there were still over a hundred. He had sent all the guards to close off the exits, leaving him to keep an eye on the numerous security feeds, scrolling past them fast to get to them all, yet fearing that he would miss some tiny detail.

Then something blinked on the right corner of the screen.

 _Box in motion._

Janson grabbed his phone. "Give up on the exits!" He practically yelled, switching to the feed in the Box, just as it halted, revealing Dr. Hong being given a boost by the subject into the Glade. "I want you to get in the Box, as many as you can cram in, and follow them into that Maze. Tell those people going around the compound to go faster!"

" _Yes sir!"_

Janson put down the phone, and stood, looming over Dr. Callestan, secured to the desk, bound with ropes. "Your efforts have gone to waste."

Dr. Callestan lifted his chin. He had one last card to play, and he wouldn't let Janson know about it yet.

An email was waiting on the server, ready to send as soon as a semblance of a connection was opened to the outside world. If Newt and Dr. Hong managed to lure the guards out, far enough, and Janson maintained contact with those guards, Ava Paige would learn about what was going on immediately.

If the subject couldn't be saved, at least he was going to bring down the person who caused his death.

* * *

Dr. Hong couldn't help but feel a deep sense of respect for the subjects as she stared at the Homestead, falling apart, the remnants of construction supplies, the kitchen, the Bloodhouse and the pens, and the Map Room. But most of all, when she looked at the towering Doors before them. The Maze seemed so gigantic, looming over them. She had never seen it from this perspective before.

Newt had to sit down to catch his breath after Dr. Hong pulled him out of the Box. He had started a coughing spasm, spitting out blood tinged with black. Dr. Hong was worried, but there was nothing much she could do. She didn't have a sample of the Prototype, and she had no idea what was going on. But still, they had to hurry.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." His words came in short bursts, punctuated with gasps for air. "Give me a couple seconds."

He was burning up, Dr. Hong could tell by a glance. And weak. But they had no choice but to keep moving.

"Do you remember the way to the Griever Hole?" She asked.

Newt nodded, finally seeming to stabilize a little. He tried to push himself up, but his trembling arms gave way.

Dr. Hong looped his arm around her shoulders, and stood, nearly stumbling as she realized just how much of his own weight Newt couldn't support.

Then the Box jerked suddenly, and started to descend. Dr. Hong paled. "Oh no."

"That Door." Newt pointed, voice sharp.

They made their way over as quickly as possible, the clanging and ringing of the Box's mechanisms echoing in the Glade, terrifying them.

"Left!" Newt disentangled himself from Dr. Hong, jogging a little, his body producing its own adrenaline. He didn't bother wiping the blood this time, knowing that they would have a map. "Left again. Now right."

Dr. Hong shivered as she could hear the sounds of guards heaving themselves out of the Box in the distance. She spotted a dusty Beetle Blade scurrying by. Janson must have reactivated them. Before she could catch it though, Newt had slammed a fist down on it, crushing it. He lifted his fist, which was bleeding a little. "Wow. I never got one of those shuck things before."

"They're slow. Just reactivated. They're warming up." Dr. Hong realized.

"Right." Newt directed, skirting another corner.

Even though their pace had significantly improved, the guards were still catching up. Newt obviously noticed the same thing. "Another two lefts, and you'll see the Griever Hole." He said. "I'm going to climb the ivy and disappear on them for a while. I can destroy the Beetle Blades that find me, and sneak away. You can go ahead and lure them away. As long as you stay ahead far enough, they won't guess that I'm still in here. I'm slow, and you could get further without me. Call Ava Paige, or try to contact Thoimas and Minho. Both of us will be safer."

Dr. Hong mulled it over. "You sure you won't fall?" Again was the unspoken word.

Newt smiled. "I have a reason not to this time."

* * *

"Chancellor Paige." She looked up to see Teresa standing in her doorway, looking just like any normal teenager in a T-shirt and jeans. "There is something I feel that you should know."

"Yes. Come in and have a seat." She swept the papers cluttering her desk to one side, to allow Teresa do lay the folders she held on her desk. She folded her hands. "So what is this about?"

A crease deepened the furrow between her brows. Teresa opened the topmost file. "Look." Her finger pointed to a line of what others would comprehend as gibberish data. "Here." Her finger jabbed another spot. "And here." She flicked a page. "And here. Here. Here." She opened the last folder. "The inconsistencies only grow more and more. And today, there weren't even any transmissions."

Ava Paige raised an amused brow. "One day back to work, and you're already looking for inconsistencies in A.D. Janson's updates? We should be focusing on the blueprint here, you know."

Teresa folded her hands in her lap, looking down. "I wanted to check on Tom."

Paige sighed, reaching out to take the folder and have a better look at it herself. "We originally agreed on these transmissions because I wanted full focus on the blueprints here. Holo transmissions take too much time and there's rarely anything important. Thomas and Minho have left for Denver, remember? I told you so yesterday."

Teresa kept quiet. There was another reason. She knew Newt wasn't immune, and had been detained for prototype testing. Newt meant a lot to Tom, and if she could keep an eye on him somehow, make sure he was okay, do her best and prove that those patterns were useful after all, then maybe she would be forgiven.

Ava Paige paged through the transmission data. "True." She eventually said. "I neglected the need to keep an eye on Janson and his prototypes. He's been sending me false data."

Teresa felt a shiver go up her spine. She sounded calm and cool, unruffled, but she could feel the undercurrent of anger and fury. Her temper wasn't boiling, but it was chilling, ice blizzards and hurricanes enough to turn the Scorch into an ocean.

"Chancellor Paige, WICKED facility DE1432 just sent out a peculiar signal before-oh. Teresa?" Aris stopped. "I'm sorry, but this is urgent. A.D. Janson's facility-"

"As a matter of fact, we were just discussing the same thing here." Ava Paige said, and Aris immediately recognize the dangerous tone she was using right now, meaning that she was really, really mad at someone. "Please tell me what the matter is."

"Right. The facility had been sending typed and coded transmissions of its data and functioning to us for the past three days, and today, the fourth day, transmissions arrived in the morning as usual. But starting as of four o'clock, one last transmission was sent, partly coded and partly incomplete. The user ID used belongs to Dr. Luke Callestan." He passed the sheet of paper to Teresa, who took a brief glance at it before passing it to Ava Paige.

 _000116 0011 01 0100 S pe 01011 H l 001010_

It was brief, and looked to be cut off halfway. Total gibberish.

But complete with the information Teresa had brought…

"Subject A5. Pope..? Plo, pro…prope? Protape…protope…prototype." Ava Paige looked up. "Prepare a Berg. We have to get there _now_. Aris. Tell Harriet to set up a link with WICKED facility DE1432. Contact Facility AT1200 as well, tell them to send an envoy over, but do not take action. They may be the closest facility, but they are too small of a force. Teresa, see if you are able to contact Thomas and Minho. Tell them to return. He has to return. I will put a stop to Janson's madness, but this cannot go on. We need him back to keep things in control. He was the one who picked Janson and I as Chancellor and Assistant Director, after all."

Teresa smiled bitterly. If only he would listen to her. "Noted."

* * *

" _Some of you are not Immune, as Control Variables in the experiment. I'd prefer to get this over with quickly."_

 _Subject A7, the Leader, Minho._

" _I have the Flare, damnit!" Minho yelled, face turning a new shade of red. Thomas turned away, shielding his expression from Minho, shielding himself from the hurtful comments, "I'm already dead! Why does it matter anyway? Why does any of it matter?!"_

 _Brenda sighed and got up. "I'll come back and we'll finish this discussion when you quit acting like a petulant child. Just keep your voice down. Don't wake Jorge. Can't have a tired pilot."_

 _Minho laughed bitterly. "Done dealing with the Crank then?" He whirled on Thomas. "Shuck it, face me! Look at me! I'm a Crank and you'd better shucking learn to accept that!"_

 _Thomas pretended he couldn't hear Minho, shutting his eyes tightly to block out the sight of him._

" _Minho. Enough." Newt said tiredly._

" _Got to stop the Crank rampage then, Newt?" Minho grinned, but it looked all twisted and wrong. "Shuck it all."_

" _Minho. Please." Newt got up and walked towards Minho. "You aren't thinking straight right now. Cool down."_

" _Shucking cool down, he says. Think clearly, he says." Minho mockingly repeated Newt's words back to him. "You're not the one who has the shucking Flare!"_

" _But you can't just give up on yourself like that!" Newt shot back._

" _Says the one who jumped off the Maze walls!" Minho screamed._

 _Newt inhaled sharply. Thomas jerked and lifted his head. Minho grinned victoriously, until he saw the look on Newt's face and realized what he had done. He stumbled backwards, away from Newt, but that put him closer to Thomas and he changed direction abruptly, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his friends. So that he wouldn't hurt them._

 _How could he do that? To Newt, who had always been by his side? To Thomas, who had done nothing but do his best in his own clumsy way to be supportive of him? To Jorge and Brenda, who had given up safe lives at WICKED to help them escape?_

 _He didn't want this. To hurt them more, to spiral into insanity right in front of the people he cared about more than anything._

 _Minho gripped the gun by his side, but a pair of arms was wrapped around him before he could move another inch, a blond head beside his and the body pressed against his shaking hard, as moisture slowly spread on his right shoulder._

" _Don't." He could only say. "I hurt you."_ _ **I should die.**_

 _For three long years in the Maze, never had he seen Newt cry. Greenies breaking down were common, the occasional bouts of frustration and anger bringing tears as well, but Newt…that was why, he suspected, Newt had to jump. He was the only one who never provided an outlet for his emotions, never shedding a tear, never displaying outward signs of fury, bottling them up until he had to jump._

 _But Newt was crying, hard but silent, gripping Minho's shirt tightly, and poor Thomas just looked confused and unsure of what he should do. He walked up to Minho's side, and with a gentleness Minho never knew he had in him, removed the gun from Minho's limp grasp._

" _You are one bloody stupid shank." Newt's fingers dug into his back. "Don't you ever think of copying me. Remember that promise?"_

 _Minho remembered. The crazy idea he had come up with Alby to protect Newt. It seemed like the tables were being turned on him now. He nodded, knowing that Newt would feel the movement._

" _I'm saying as of now, that promise goes both shucking ways." Newt didn't mention how one of the three original people bound with that promise had already died, flinging himself to the Grievers. "So don't you dare shoot yourself, Minho."_

 _Newt knew he was being selfish, taking away Minho's only escape from the Flare._

 _Minho knew what Newt was doing. He knew that Newt needed an assurance that Minho wasn't leaving him anytime soon, except that the Flare was going to take him away sooner or later, and it would be twice as painful._

 _He already had a solution to that._

 _Slowly, Minho raised his arms, and hugged back._

" _I understand."_


	12. Chapter 11

_**I got hit by a truckload of Chuck feels. Blame the drabble at the end on that. XD I've also given up on estimating the number of chapters it's going to take for this story to end. Not reaching twenty though, which was the original estimate. I'm also hungry for good fanfiction right now, so I'm throwing this out there: Any fanfic recs, guys?**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Thanks! The idea of Crank!Minho wasn't original though, it was a theory on Tumblr, which I found on Pinterest, and it got my writing muse going. I was really resisting the idea of rushing the plot, especially since it would just make things more confusing, but the urge to rush is just so strong! I'm feeling the tension as well…**_

* * *

 _A true friend's silence hurts more than an enemy's rough words._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Eleven_

* * *

Six o'clock.

Vince entered the cockpit, but didn't say anything upon seeing Thomas sitting rigidly in his seat, eyes rimmed red and empty. Whatever had transpired, it needed to be sorted out soon. He didn't want their operation jeopardized because of some spat between two children.

Thomas got up, movements robotic, and let Vince take his seat.

Vince sighed. "Go find your little friend. I don't need your help right now."

Thomas retreated out of the cockpit, head down, defeated.

He had thought a lot about it in the past hour. His actions, their consequences. His rashness, his recklessness, his stupid childish hubris that led to so many lives being destroyed, and none saved. He had been too driven, too focused. From what Vince had told him during their brief meeting, his actions with WICKED had all but destroyed a world, sucking up resources for a Cure that had no guaranteed possibility of success.

Before entering the Maze, he had watched the deaths from afar, through the lens of a Beetle Blade, carefully hidden security cameras. He watched their attempt to escape through the Box Hole, watched as people broke down and fought among each other, watched as suicides were planned, watched as some slowly gave in to depression.

And all he could think of are the shucking brain patterns.

Minho was sitting on a couch in the main room, arms crossed and brows furrowed. When he saw Thomas, he just shot a glare at him and went back to staring off into space.

And being ignored, thrown off like that, hurt. He had expected barbs, taunts, fury and anger, but Minho's silence almost made him feel like he meant nothing. Worthless.

Thomas gave up on any sliver of hope to mend their broken friendship, instead focusing his eyes on the same spot Minho was staring at.

Tick Tock. Tick. Tock.

The minute hand moved ever so slightly.

Two more hours.

* * *

Hand after hand. Focus.

Beetle Blade. Fingers on right hand uncurl. Tighten grip on left hand. Beetle Blade is crushed.

Tired. Arms are shaking. Head spinning, whether from the height or just his body failing him.

Newt stopped when he was about fifty meters off the ground to loop some vines around his waist and tie them in a knot, taking a leaf from Thomas' book. The muscles in his right arm screamed from the effort, and when he was finally able to let go, he let out a soft sigh of relief and released his grip. He fell a bit, which nearly stopped his heart, but the vines jerked him to a halt, and he took deep breaths to calm his racing heart.

WICKED personnel ran past the wall he was hanging on, turning in every direction but up. He sighed in relief. His plan had worked. Dr. Hong wouldn't be slowed down by him anymore and she would make it out. She would get help.

In the meantime, he just had to hang on.

He dug around in his right pocket and found the only adrenaline pill he had on his person. Now that he could relax, he was feeling the effects of all the previous activity crashing onto him. He felt like he couldn't move another inch, but he had to keep breathing, keep focused, and not fall asleep.

He wasn't sure whether his heart would keep beating if he fell asleep right now.

Newt felt his nose. No more blood was coming from it, and it should be a good sign. It was uncomfortable, and he was going to have bruises if he kept himself supported by ivy around his waist like that for an extended period of time.

He happily noticed that most of the WICKED guards had already run past him, and no one was noticing him. He closed his eyes, counting down five minutes. If no one else came after five minutes, he would let himself down, and go back to WICKED, below the Maze. That would be the last place they'd look for him. Judging by the number of people that had already run past, he might even be able to score an escape that way.

Five.

Nothing. Not even the whisper of a Beetle Blade. Maybe even the control room had been abandoned in the search. Newt couldn't help but feel pleased that he had been valuable enough to cause such uproar.

Four.

One person ran past, pointing a Launcher in front of him, turning constantly from back to front and front to back, being paranoid. Newt considered dropping down on his head if he looked up. He didn't.

Three.

Empty. The sky was dark overhead, like it had been in the last days of the Maze. Newt started undoing the knots.

Two.

Newt gripped the ivy firmly with his hands. He wasn't going to fall this time. He was going to live just to spite WICKED.

One.

He let the last of the ivy around his waist unravel and started moving.

Zero.

Newt hit the ground, panting slightly from the exertion just as Janson rounded the corner, a manic smile on his face. "I thought you'd be here."

Newt froze. "Shuck."

* * *

"Thomas." Teresa whispered into the microphone, a breeze of air that carried so much hope and sadness. "Answer me. Please. Wherever you are right now. This is urgent."

In Denver, people stopped on the streets to stare at the large television screens that had suddenly started to project the image of a beautiful, dark haired, blue eyed girl sending a message. Radios in Bergs everywhere buzzed into static before projecting a soft, feminine voice. Hopeful teenage boys, Thomas or not, simultaneously raised their phones to type in the number at the bottom of the screen, recited by the girl.

Then the tone changed abruptly. "I swear that if you're not Thomas, do not call or I will make your lives miserable." Teresa threatened, expression morphing into something terrifying, terrible. Something that said that she truly meant what she was saying. Boys resisted the urge to drop to their knees, stuffed their phones back into their pockets and tried to pretend that nothing had happened.

Aris flashed her a thumbs up from where he was keeping the channels going.

Teresa gave a faint nod, and motioned to stop the broadcasting. Now they could only wait.

* * *

Newt frantically scrambled up the walls again, heart pounding. Janson followed, laughing. "You think you can outwit me, subject? My men are going to recapture Hong, and I've already immobilized Callestan. You are weak and fading. Do you know what was in that last prototype? How it was designed to work?"

Newt didn't bother answering him, his grip on the vines already slipping, his palms slicked with sweat. He continued climbing, finding and losing footholds as if it was second nature to him. He risked a glimpse down and found Janson to be terrifyingly close, his grin leering and manic. Newt's heart skipped a beat and his grip on the vines loosed enough for him to slip down a few centimeters, burning his palm before he got a good grip again.

"Dopamine." Janson said, uncaring if Newt paid attention or not. "Psychedelic. Other trace elements as well. All decomposed with beta rays before frozen and made into this masterpiece. They suppress brain activity, but when the subject forces it, they react by causing cells to mutate, to cause pain and discomfort to discourage the subject. And it's been working so far, isn't it? You haven't had a bout of the Flare in so long! Congratulations!"

Newt reached out a shaking arm to a vine beside him just as Janson's hand curled around his foot. He kicked out, startled, his remaining hand loosening and he dropped, with Janson still holding onto his ankle. He screamed, feeling it snap with an audible crack before it was wrenched out of Janson's grip. He latched onto a vine, feeling it burn against his hands as he slid another few more meters before his good foot finally found a hold. Hissing in pain, he turned the information Janson had just given him over in his head as he slowly shimmied downwards using the same method, letting go slightly and sliding downwards until he found a foothold, stop, and repeat. It wore down on his hands, blood was already trickling, but as long as he got out alive, it didn't matter.

"Do you see the genius in that?" Janson yelled in exhilaration, matching Newt's pace in descending. Newt let himself go faster, slide further. "Fighting poison with poison!"

Except that he might just die of a poison overdose. Newt looked at the ground, only a few meters away. He could jump.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Jumping would save time, and salvage what was left of the skin on his hands.

But a few months before, he had chosen to jump, and that had not ended well. Alby's tears, Clint and Jeff deliberating about whether his leg should go, how Minho had slapped him when he woke up and followed up with a hug, the two of them prepared the hurt themselves to extract a promise from him.

But he had to prove to himself that even with a limp, he could still fly and overcome his fears.

Newt waited until Janson's left foot was close enough until he grabbed it and let go of the vines.

Unprepared for the sudden tug, Janson screamed, disoriented as he was yanked away from the vines, slipping from his fingers as he struggled to right himself, but couldn't do so in time. His head slammed onto the Maze's floor with a sickening thump and he lay there, blood spreading, unconscious or dead.

Newt landed on both feet, his injured right foot crumpling under him and he screamed, vision blackening out as he swayed sideways, finally falling onto the floor as well.

His eyes closed and a small breath left him as he hit the floor.

* * *

"Thomas. Kid. You have a message." Vince yelled from the cockpit, turning the volume of the radio up. Static crackled and filled the air, and Minho winced. The sound was hurting his eardrums, crackling and fizzling as the connection broke and reconnected.

"The communication tech is klunk." Minho commented moodily. "And they build a Maze instead of developing these."

He didn't look at Thomas when he said that. Thomas knew why. He was part of the reason those funds were diverted. That the Maze had been an idea, that it had become a reality.

 _Please. Wherever you are right now. This is urgent._

Teresa's voice. Thomas risked a side glance at Minho, but the Keeper's face seemed to be set in stone. Vince swirled his chair around, raising a brow at Thomas as Teresa recited a number, then started threatening people. Thomas memorized the number without thinking, repeating it under his breath. With a start, he realized that it was the same number as Ava Paige's, the one the WICKED doctor had given.

"Well?" Vince was waiting for his reply, tapping his foot.

Teresa was still with WICKED. With Ava Paige, no less. Was he really going to call her in the middle of going to storm one of her bases?

But Teresa sounded tense. There was no hint of a lie in her voice. If she was giving out a number to a private line freely, there must be some kind of real emergency. But why him? Did something go wrong? Or was it just another trap for him to return? But then why just him, and not Minho? Teresa wouldn't cooperate with them either if that was the case.

Or did something go horribly wrong with Newt, and in some act of compassion, Teresa had contacted them for him?

Thomas caught another glance at Minho out of the corner of his eye. Minho's dark, black eyes were rarely readable, the blackness doing a good job at burying any emotion. And they were still silent, even now, watching Thomas, waiting for his next move, waiting for another reason to distrust him.

Thomas shook his head. "We are going there anyway. We will see for ourselves what the urgent matter is."

* * *

 _Minho curiously fingered a drumstick, then curled his fingers around it, bringing it down upon the cymbals with a satisfying clang._

" _We could start a band like this!" He called out to Newt, who was cautiously pressing keys on a piano. Alby shushed them from where he was trying to produce a sound from the trumpet._

" _Ew, you're getting saliva all over it." Siggy wrinkled his nose, shaking a tambourine experimentally. "Why are they even allowing us near these things I don't even know."_

 _Chuck ran up beside Newt, eagerly having a go at the piano as well. As the youngest of their group, he was the most excitable, and lately had taken to idolizing Newt, following him everywhere he went and doing what he did. The most memorable time was when he challenged Minho to a race just because Newt had won the day before, and he wanted to try his luck as well. Minho couldn't say no to the little eight year old, and to a lot of teasing and good natured jibes later, he lost to the kid. Everybody knew it was on purpose, but all congratulated him and kept saying things like, "Wow, you were like the wind!" and "Minho didn't stand a chance!"_

 _He couldn't stop grinning after._

 _Newt moved on to a guitar, casually plucking strings. "Same reason they felt like educating us, I guess."_

" _Yeah. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth though." George blew a note out on the flute. "This one's easy." He changed his finger positions, changing the pitch of the note, and finally got a good enough grasp of the basics to play a simple tune of Mary had a Little Lamb. "I have my choice now."_

 _Chuck followed Newt to the guitar as well, smiling widely as Newt strummed it awkwardly, before shifting its position to a more comfortable one. He pressed a string at the top with his other hand, and ran his fingers across the strings again. He liked this sound better, and continued experimenting, while Chuck watched with starry eyes._

" _Hey! Check this out!" Ben yelled, waving a violin. "I look like a proper gentleman playing this!"_

 _At the first bowstroke, everyone winced, but it got progressively better. Ben grinned, and swept a bow._

 _Meanwhile, Minho was still smashing away at the drums, a wide grin on his face._

" _You look stupid, you know." Alby said, finally deciding on a harmonica._

 _Minho shrugged. "I'm nothing compared to Gally over there."_

 _Newt glanced over, only to choke on his own saliva as he saw Gally sporting a whole bag of bagpipes, grinning from ear to ear and looking rather pleased with himself._

" _I'm going for a guitar too!" Chuck tugged on Newt's shirt. "Same as you!"_

 _Newt laughed. "Whatever suits you. Just remember we have to take lessons on whatever we choose for two months. You have to like it yourself, okay?"_

" _But I do like it." Chuck tilted his head innocently._

 _Minho suppressed a laugh. "Then go for it, Lightning."_

 _They had started calling him that after he supposedly beat Minho at racing. He loved the nickname, said that it sounded cool, just like how Newt stood for Isaac Newton. Newt was a type of lizard that was rumored to breath fire in some fantasy books, and Chuck practically worshipped Newt even more, if possible, for having such a cool name._

" _Let's all play together!" Chuck yelled at the top of his voice, so that the entire room could hear him._

 _Everyone smiled, and let their very own Lightning start the first note._

 _One year later, the people Chuck idolized so much would be sent up into the Maze._

 _Two years later, they would become hardened, and would never consider the idea of losing to a child._

 _Three years later, half of their makeshift band would be dead._

 _Four years later, their little Lightning would die of a bullet._

 _No one would remember this moment. This happy, noisy, priceless moment where everyone was safe and whole. Not broken. Not sick with the Flare. Not grown up way too early._

 _But for now, it had to be enough._

* * *

 _Part of grief_

 _Is the loss of innocence_

 _The loss of the certainty that e_ _verything_

 _Will always be as it has been._

 _Goodnight, Chuck._


	13. Chapter 12

_**Twelve chapter mark and still so many things aren't settled yet. Whatever, I give up on estimating.**_

 _ **I've been having a lot of fun delving into everyone's psychology this chapter! Different goals, different views. Note that Janson refers to them mostly as subjects, while Ava Paige says their full names-purely professional. Dr. Hong started calling Newt by his chosen name a few chapters back though, a symbolism of her getting to know him as a person. Dr. Callestan is more focused on his goals of doing the right thing, not about the people themselves. So it's been interesting, but soul sucking sometimes as I have to analyze every piece of dialogue to see how right I got their character, speech, language, everything. Or sometimes I get fed up and just do whatever. So sorry if there're any inconsistencies in behavior!**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Dusty Books: Cliffhanger uncliffhangered! Word formats automatically, so you could try that if you want. But you actually rewrote it in such a short amount of time though! I never rewrite things. If that happens to me either the story will take a different plotline from what I originally intended, or it gets abandoned. I rarely can do the same thing twice with writing.**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Fever Code! Yes! I haven't been to the bookstore in a while though, and I already used up my book allowance for the new Harry Potter, so I'll have to wait for a friend to buy it. Sigh…James Dashner confirmed that Newt's jump would be included though, and just. Just. Just. I want to read it but don't want to read it. I have a feeling it's going to rip my heart out and piece it back together-with needles.**_

* * *

 _The people experiencing the most pain tend to be the ones who are always trying to make others smile._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Twelve_

* * *

One more hour.

Minho flipped the knife in his hands over and over again absentmindedly, trying to keep his mind off what they would find when they got there. Thomas was feverishly working on the blueprints of the WICKED complex layout, not just of this one, but also of Ava Paige's base, the main one where all the brain patterns collected are put together and analyzed for a Cure. Where the chain of command begun. Where Teresa's message originated from.

He still didn't want to talk to Thomas. He felt cold all over when he looked at him. Thomas was about two years younger than him, and Minho was sent into the Maze at age fourteen, together with Newt, age thirteen. That meant that at age twelve Thomas had already knowingly sent people to their deaths. Building the Maze took time, so even as young as ten, or eleven, the boy had already been making plans.

Minho could forgive him for the Maze, because Thomas went through it together with them, and brought them out. Because he made the choice to send them in, knowing that he would go in as well. Because Newt had said that the Thomas they were seeing right now was all that mattered.

But this Thomas in front of him, methodically labeling labs and offices had his memories back. His memories of purposely making Newt take that fateful jump, make that terrible choice, all for their sick experiments.

Because he made Newt sad.

Minho's hands slipped at the realization, cutting his finger open.

"Shuck." He swore softly, ignoring Thomas' concerned glance and sucking on the wound, the iron tang of blood filling his mouth.

Maybe his forgiveness wasn't as hard to win as he thought after all.

And Minho actually felt relieved, knowing that all the anger and hate and spite would be able to be released if only Thomas could do one thing.

Make Newt smile again.

* * *

"Increase the speed to maximum." Ava Paige instructed, speaking curtly into the phone. "No, do not allow any of the subjects aboard. Not even Teresa Agnes. They are a valuable resource, the only one left to us, and we will not endanger them unless absolutely necessary."

" _Understood, Chancellor. Two Bergs have already taken off with the rest of the elite unit, fifteen minutes behind your take off."_

"Let two more Bergs come, then stop. We need our base secured as well." Paige said. "Has there been word from Janson?"

" _Our message was sent five minutes ago, but no response as of yet, Chancellor."_

Paige sighed. "Very well. I have two more hours until I get there, and I expect you to call if there are any updates within this time frame."

" _Understood. One more thing, Chancellor-we received a more complete copy of Dr. Callestan's message. It says: Subject B7 dead. Subject A5 dying. Urgent request for help. The part in between about prototypes is unintelligible, but the words we can make out so far are hope, control, and prototypes."_

Ava Paige hung up after two minutes of stretching silence.

They were too late.

* * *

Newt woke, but couldn't open his eyes or move. He panicked, trying to coax a little cooperation from his muscles, but no, nothing. He felt the smooth floor beneath him, too smooth, with a little dust and sand smeared on it. He felt blood slowly trickling down his ankle, into his shoes. He felt tired.

He drifted back into oblivion.

When he woke up again, he could move, and he slowly opened his eyes, to a blinding headache.

"Shuck." He whispered, lips numb and cold. He let out an odd keening sound, not of his own volition, but from the effort exerted as he dragged himself upright against the wall and leaned against it, closing his eyes, trying to focus on breathing. He counted to five before he opened his eyes again, squinting in the dim lighting of the gray sky and bent over to slowly untie his shoelaces. Every little movement hurt achingly, and not that kind of good ache you get after a whole day of running the Maze, where you were building up muscles in your body. It was a bone deep, something's wrong with my body ache.

Janson lay a few feet away, the pool of blood around him had mingled with Newt's own blood. Newt took one good look at him and averted his gaze, not wanting to look at the crushed skull and the fragments of brain matter within.

The shoelaces undone, Newt braced himself, and gently tugged on the shoe.

An explosion of pain accompanied the movement, and Newt howled, dropping his foot. Panting, he wiped sweat off his face and gritted his teeth, waiting for the faint aftershock twinges to die away.

It was most definitely broken again, and Newt didn't even need to see the wound to determine that. He leaned back against the wall, trying to determine his next course of action, with a broken foot.

Dr. Hong had probably baited most of the guards away, and their leader, Janson was dead. They would most probably return once Janson had not been in contact for a prolonged amount of time, since either they caught Dr. Hong and awaited the ensuing orders, or they did not and required directions for the next steps.

Either way, they would return to see what was wrong, and come across Newt.

He had to move.

There was a new wetness on his lips again, and Newt didn't need to wipe it with the back of his hand to take a good look at it to know that it was blood.

He could not return to WICKED headquarters. He wasn't familiar with the layout, since they had been in another base with Ava Paige before transferring here. And they would have enough sense to leave people behind to keep the place running.

But the Glade, the Maze, these he knew, having spent two years Mapping it and one more studying the Maps.

He retied his shoelaces, not wanting them to trip him up, and pulled himself upright with the help of the vines. The Maze, once created to trap them in would now become his hiding place.

He reached over to grab Janson's gun, and started limping away.

* * *

"It's time." Vince let the Berg hover a few feet away from the strangely empty entrance of the WICKED compound. "What's the plan?"

Thomas frowned, pushing all of his feelings aside as he concentrated on the task at hand, keeping himself from casting a hopeful look at Minho. "I thought we could blast a hole through the roof, which would put us in the Maze. We could take the Maze exit-the Griever Hole to the labs, then exit to the back and blend into the workers from there. But now the entrance is wide open."

"Look." Minho said, pointing into the distance. Vince and Thomas had to squint to make something out through the darkness, but then saw the faint glow of headlights as a jeep bumped and rolled through sand dunes at full speed, heading northwest. More jeeps and vehicles trailed after, even a Berg was rising into the air as they looked. Vince turned and disappeared inside, shifting the Berg's position so that it could remain hidden. Thomas and Minho remained sitting on the extended ramp as the Berg started to descend slightly, the wind ruffling their hair.

"I wonder what that's about." Thomas stated, not really talking to himself, hoping for a response from Minho.

"Shuckfaces." Minho spat, and Thomas shut up.

Vince reemerged. "So new plan?"

"They must be planning something." Minho said disdainfully. "No one leaves their entrance wide open like that, not even if they're really desperate to catch someone. I say we follow the original plan."

Thomas shook his head. "That'll take too much time. We have to get to Newt as fast as possible. I say we take the front entrance. Risky, but really, we just saw a bunch of people take off in that direction." He jerked a thumb at the fading vehicles. "If they see us, then we can fight through them. We have actual weapons now. If they don't, then good. But we need to take this risk."

"Oh yeah? And what good will we do Newt if we're captured? Brainwashed? Forced into carrying out more shuck experiments?" Minho challenged. "I know that you're a klunkhead, but that doesn't mean the rest of WICKED are shanks too. I'm telling you, there has to be some trap there!"

"It's a wide open opportunity right there that you're not taking!" Thomas yelled. "The explosions cause noise. Noise would make them notice us! How do you even know they are anticipating us, anyway? How do you even know if they knew that you would think this way and set traps at our original route?"

"Quiet, both of you." Vince sighed in exasperation, just as Minho, face turning red, was about to hurl more insults at Thomas. "Both of you make valid points. It's a never ending cycle. But what if they had traps on both sides? Which would you pick to face?"

Minho's mouth snapped shut. Thomas waited, hoping that Minho would see his point. Newt was probably being kept in the rooms on the first floor, maybe taken to the second floor for testing occasionally. The entrance had a lift which provided quick access to all floors, including the Maze. That lift was vital to quick getaways, and if Newt was in a bad shape, it would save them a lot of stair climbing. On the other hand, entering through the Maze's roof would be difficult, involve a lot of maneuvering, and a possible fall to their deaths if they aimed it wrong or worse, destroyed the structure of the ceiling, which would cause it to collapse on the building. They were not explosive experts.

"Fine." Minho finally said, scowling. "Let's do it your way."

The Berg touched down behind a small copse of trees and the three of them hopped off, weapons at the ready. It was a swift, silent run to the entrance, where they stopped just beyond the final line of trees, regaining their breath and studying their target.

"If one of us is down, keep running. If two of us are down, keep running. Especially you." Minho pointed at the leader of the Right Arm. "They want the two of us alive, but won't have any qualms about shooting you. But we will expect you to stay with us as long as one of us is still up and going. Clear?"

Vince snorted. "I don't need some kid to give me instructions. I know what I am here for. Let's do it."

Thomas nodded, but wasn't sure whether Minho saw him in the dim light from the lighted windows of the building. Either way, Minho didn't ask for confirmation, and Thomas offered none, so on some silent agreement, the three of them dashed towards the first pile of crates they saw and concealed themselves behind them. Minho reached out an arm and cautiously pressed the lift button.

No one shot him. Not even the slightest whisper of movement that indicated people.

The entrance of the building was apparently totally devoid of life as the lift doors slid open soundlessly.

Thomas entered the lift first. "I'll go up, then come down to confirm that there're no traps in the lift." He said, keeping a finger on the 'Open Doors' button as he spoke. "Then we go one by one."

"Check out the labs first." Minho said. "Get a look at the security cameras. That'll help us narrow down a lot of places."

It wasn't until the lift doors closed that Thomas noticed the drops of blood at one corner.

* * *

 _It was after Chuck's death, when he had time to fully analyze the glimpses and glances of the world outside, of his past life, lying on the bunk bed he had been provided with, in the room with all the other Gladers, when he felt a familiar weight settle beside him, that he felt like he wanted to sob himself to pieces._

" _Can't sleep, Tommy?"_

 _Newt's presence was warm, his tone soft and gentle, and for some unknown reason, Thomas didn't want him to leave. He wanted him to keep talking, and stay there._

" _Yeah." He said, through dry lips. "You can't too?"_

 _Newt chose not to answer, evading the question. "Heard you breathing a bit too heavily. Why?"_

" _I don't know. Probably had too much on my mind." Because he didn't want to go to sleep, fearing that he would have to relive Chuck's death over and over again. Because he feared that in his dreams, he would return to the Glade, where there were two times the Gladers in this room. Because the second he tried to relax, he would let the tears flow._

 _Shifting and movement alerted Thomas to the fact that Newt had drawn his legs up onto his bed. A turn of his head showed him that Newt was looking intently at him._

" _Would it help to talk?"_

 _Thomas didn't think it would help. He was at the point where he felt that nothing could help at all. Talking about things would only increase what he needed to think about, and relieve memories that he longed to be buried deep._

 _But he didn't want Newt to leave._

" _Yes." He said in a whisper._

 _Silence stretched for a moment, and Newt broke it by talking first, guessing correctly that Thomas just wanted a distraction from everything that happened._

" _I had always been teased by Minho for my bloody accent. There was one time he tried to copy it-he sounded worse than a dying cat, I can tell you. Alby did a slightly better impression. George-that half shank you saw back in the Deadheads, in the Glade-he was the first Second in Command, and Nick was the first person in charge of the Glade. They made me welcome all the Greenies for three months just to see their reaction to my accent. Everyone talking to them would try their best to do that same accent, and we would pretend not to understand them. They would try to copy it just to fit in-the longest lasted two days before Gally gave up the joke by talking to Frypan a little too loudly in their usual style."_

 _Thomas smiled softly, his mind filled with sunshine and happiness, Newt looking annoyed as Minho sassed him, Alby alive, confused Greenies. "At least you didn't try that on me."_

" _Joke grew old. Or rather, fourth Greenie to come up pointed out that my name was of a lizard, and that got all those bloody shanks cracking up hard enough to drop the act by accident." Newt scowled. "Seriously. I like my name. Way better than Isaac Newton, who got hit in the head by a bloody apple."_

" _He was a knight. Sir Isaac Newton." Thomas put in, bewildered as to where that bit of trivia came from._

" _Sir Newt." Newt said, keeping a straight face. "Don't let Minho hear about that or I'll never hear the end of that."_

" _Noted."_

 _Thomas felt some of the weight on his chest dissipate, lightened by the small memory Newt had shared with him. He felt Newt lean over to give him a hug before standing._

" _Well, get some sleep, kay? Night, Tommy."_

 _Newt disappeared up into his own bed, and Thomas drifted off into sleep. It was the most relaxing sleep he could remember that he ever had, and probably the last one he would ever have._

* * *

 _It was after they had arrived at Paradise, when he finally had time to register everything that had happened since then, lying on the makeshift bed of leaves, staring up at the sky, that he felt like he wanted to sob himself to pieces._

 _No one heard his heavy breathing as he reined in heart wrenching sobs. No one dented the bed of leaves._

 _There were no sunny memories, or a soft, rolling voice with a British tilt. Nor were there lean, strong arms to make him feel safe._

 _Newt wasn't there this time._


	14. Chapter 13

_**Serious drama goes down in this chapter. With Janson down, hope really is fading for everyone. For those wondering what's going on at Dr. Hong's end, she's good, she's reached the village, she's on her way to Denver right now. I'm not writing her because no canon character is with her, and I don't like putting too much focus on OCs. Dr. Callestan's drabble is the only exception, for the good guy bad guy syndrome going on.**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Aww…really? The only part in his POV was the prologue? And I was looking forward to reading more of his POV and get an idea of how he thinks. The friend I was waiting for to buy it wants to, but he hasn't been to a bookshop yet, so…I will read it though. Even if I have to sit at the bookshop all day.**_

 _ **Guest: Yes, yes, I'm continuing right now! XD So what do you think of the new chapter?**_

* * *

 _In the end, you always go back to the people that were there in the beginning._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Thirteen_

* * *

Ava Paige placed one final call before she finally looked up to check the clock. She knew that time moved slower when you needed it to go faster and kept checking on the clock, which was why she had kept herself busy with more attempts to contact Janson's base and maintaining a steady flow of updates from her own headquarters.

One more hour to go.

If only the Flat Trans hadn't been set up so early-they could program the other end of it to be in her own headquarters, it would have saved them so much time.

But now Subject B7 was dead, and Subject A5 was dying. Probably dead already, since that message had been sent three hours prior. Janson's obsession with hope had been given in that transcription as well, the complete message reading _Subject B7 dead. Subject A5 dying. A.D. Janson says they are our hope. Suspect he may be infected. Wants to test more prototypes on A5 despite B7's results. Urgent request for help. Control him somehow. Repeat, urgent request for help. Dr. Hong sent to stop further escalation._

 _Signed, Dr. Luke Callestan._

It had come in just thirty minutes before, and Ava had closed her eyes, asking herself how she had missed Janson's signs of madness.

The promise to keep the subjects safe, stop any testing until they fully adjust to their memories-lie.

And she had been fool enough to believe it.

Ava did not remember much of Dr. Hong. The name stirred memories-a dark, Asian girl sitting silently through all the meetings, quietly doing her duty without any questions. The perfect worker, taking orders without ever questioning them.

She would not stand a chance against Janson.

* * *

"Look." The words tumbled out of Thomas' mouth in a rush as he dragged both Minho and Vince into the lift, disregarding the previous instructions, set just in case there was a trap in the lift. "It's blood. And yes, yes, the labs are clear, not one shank in sight to ambush me."

Minho's face darkened even more, if possible. Vince frowned. "More evidence of a fight and a struggle. Add that to the envoy pursuing one van, I say that something's gone wrong."

"Could someone have kidnapped the Rat Man?" Thomas asked, a bit too hopefully.

"We should check the security room out before we jump to conclusions." Vince quickly put in before Minho retorted. Tensions had been growing between these two, and he didn't want to be caught in the middle of it, especially not in the middle of a life or death situation. "Hopefully we can rewind the footage and figure out what's going on."

They all piled into the elevator, Thomas spending the ride staring at the flecks of blood while Minho was obviously avoiding looking at it. Vince felt like he had gotten himself into the most awkward situation ever.

Minho didn't see blood all that often, despite everything that they had been through. Not like this, glaring at them from the clean environment around them. Most of the deaths he had seen were due to Grievers, and he hadn't had time to linger, to study the bloodstains. To think of what it would take to clean it up, to sort the mess that lingered in his mind.

Thus the avoidance. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to look away, that the burning red would imprint itself into his mind if he gave it the chance.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. Minho was the first to exit, but had to wait for Thomas to lead the way, since he only had memories of the rooms and the Maze. Vince took up rear position.

They passed rooms and labs, some with the doors wide open, some locked. They ran into one terrified scientist, who immediately got knocked out by the butt of Minho's gun before Thomas could even open his mouth. They were a bit more wary after that, checking through keyholes and doors in case of a back attack, but the place was completely deserted.

Finally, Thomas opened a door and gestured for them to enter. "It's here."

Minho barreled in, to find a man bound and gagged to a chair. The man had his eyes closed, but they snapped open when he heard the ruckus the three of them were making. Minho yanked out the gag as Vince turned to lock and secure the door they entered through.

"Are you from WICKED?" Was the first question out of Minho's mouth.

"Not anymore." The man's voice was dark, laced with bitterness. "I disagreed with their ideals. Who are _you_?"

"Doesn't matter. We have weapons, and you're tied up. You don't get to call the shots." Vince pointed out, turning to face the man. "Answer any questions we have or it won't be pretty."

"Where's New-Subject A5?" Thomas asked, changing the reference to Newt halfway. If he used to work for WICKED, then the probability for him recognizing Newt by that name was higher. Minho threw him a dirty look, but he ignored the stinging.

"Hopefully out of here by now." The man smiled, lighting up his face for a moment.

You could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed.

"Wait, _what_?" Minho yelled. "Shucking _hell!_ We saw them! They were chasing after him, and we could have distracted them, we could have picked him up, we could have been out of this place already!"

"Calm down, kid." Vince said, though he worriedly glanced at Thomas.

Thomas was frantically scrolling through the footage on the screens placed haphazardly on the table. "We had shuck for brains if we assumed that Newt was just going to stay put once he discovered what they were doing to him." He muttered under his breath. The other boy was not second in command just because he was the Glade Mother.

"Subjects A2 and A7." The man said, identifying them. Minho whirled on him.

"Tell us what happened."

"My name is Luke Callestan, and I was instructed to watch over Subject A5, the Glue, Isaac Newton, or Newt…"

* * *

Newt wasn't sure how long he had taken to turn a couple corners and into the depths of the Maze before he heard footsteps pounding back, out of the Griever Hole and back through the Maze.

"Spread out! Search for the boy!" A voice barked, magnified by a megaphone or some other similar gimmick. "Watson, Greene, go back down through the Box. Don't worry, it's not going to freaking cut you in half. That was specially designed for the subjects only, it's deactivated now. Go check the security room, look through the footage, make contact with us if you see any sign of him."

A distinct salute of 'Roger!'

More footsteps, and Newt held in a whimper of pain as he forced himself to go faster, clinging to the ivy ropes to keep himself from face planting into the ground. He didn't have the strength to keep his bad leg above the ground as he moved, but dragging it on the ground only hurt more. He clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep going.

The Maze was silent as he moved further away from the men with increased speed.

He chose the paths with the most junctions, pausing every now and then to make sure no blood got on the floor, or to smooth over the dust disturbed by his feet. The pauses were a brief respite, but he never dared to stop long, since he had no idea where the men were, or how much progress they were making. Pulling himself up again always hurt.

Could he escape if they had left the Griever Hole unguarded? Why had they returned anyway? Was Dr. Hong caught?

A sudden stabbing pain drove through his skull as he pondered these questions, and Newt gave a short gasp, falling forward, hitting the ground as his head continued to pound. Blood sprayed onto the ground as he choked and gurgled on yet more blood, spasms jerking his body violently. His right hand reached forwards- _he had to keep moving, they would find him_ -but the other clawed at his throat, uncut nails digging deep into the skin, leaving bright red trails of blood trailing down- _Stop stop stop it hurts it hurts stop I want out I don't want it to hurt I want to-_

The two young men that had snuck up on him from behind froze, unsure whether that was supposed to happen.

"I only wanted to knock him out!" The brunette exclaimed, eyes filled with fear and guilt. "I don't think-"

The voice that boomed suddenly through the Maze wasn't helping matters.

"Assistant Director Janson has been found dead! Everyone regroup in the Glade! Repeat, Assistant Director Janson found dead! All guards, regroup in the Glade! Assistant…"

Newt screamed. Hoarse, broken, red flecks and spittle flying out in the long, drawn out sound of pure agony. The second man winced, and tried to touch Newt, but received a kick to his knee for that. The brunette threw himself on Newt, trying to stop him from struggling, while the second man spoke into his device, informing the others of the new development.

 _Get_ _ **out**_ _of my head-we aren't subjects-_

"I don't think we should-I didn't know he would be that-" The brunette tried to pin Newt down, but the boy was thrashing about too violently. "Calm down! I'm sorry, we should get you back for proper care. Stop-"

"I don't think he's fighting us." The blond said quietly. "There's more going on in WICKED than we knew."

The brunette looked horrified. "What-how-"

Newt choked off, dragging himself a few centimeters forward with the man on his back, but his broken ankle screamed in protest at the movement. He was tired, and hurting, and the world was tapdancing around him-

 _Alby, no! You can't-we can't-we have to-_

 _Is the way I talk that funny?_

 _Who are you? Where am I?_

 _Welcome to the Glade, Greenie._

Memories, broken and halting, danced before him. He wondered briefly if he was getting the famed memory flashback treatment that one was rumored to get just before death.

Snatches of conversation between his two assailants dimly made it through his muddled brain.

-help him-

-right and wrong-

-take him back? But-

-us alive-

 _Daddy, stop! Lizzy didn't mean it-_

 _Lizzy, that's mine! You don't get everything just because you're bloody younger!_

… _I'm a big brother?_

Did she even survive the Maze?

 _Mummy, why do I have to walk in front of Aunt Janice? It's scary!_

 _Daddy, make me fly!_

With a smile on his face, Newt closed his eyes.

The two men stopped arguing as the boy under them abruptly stilled.

The blond looked away, while the brunette got off the body, stared numbly for a moment, and started to weep in choked, broken sobs.

* * *

"No." Minho whispered in mute horror, replaying the footage. It was a bit grainy, due to the dust coating the lens of the Beetle Blade, but unmistakable.

A blond, pale face coated in blood and a determined expression, was steadily moving up the wall of the Maze, lithe and graceful, though his movements were dragging and slow, partly due to his injured limb, partly due to the mixture of chemicals he had been fed the past few days.

The head turned, eyes widened in surprise, and Minho caught one last glimpse of Newt's face, tired and worn, before he reached out a fist to smash the Beetle Blade and the screen went dark.

Thomas was frozen behind him, mouthing unintelligible words, but Minho couldn't bring himself to care. He numbly pressed the replay button again, memorizing every detail of the vines, the wall underneath the vines, Newt's side profile before he noticed the Beetle Blade, then a clear shot of his face before he destroyed the Beetle.

He was about to press the button for the third time when Vince gently caught his hand.

"Let it go, young man."

Minho shut his eyes, suddenly glad that Thomas had made Dr. Callestan leave to reopen communications in Janson's office before he told Minho to look at the footage.

He hadn't been with Alby when the other boy had found Newt, but he could only imagine. His imagination was his worst nightmare, especially during the week where Newt lay unconscious, the Med Jacks fearing that he might never wake up, spooning food and water into him, unceasingly wondering whether what they were doing was enough. It was where they got the practice necessary to keep Teresa alive when she was in the coma. His dreams were haunted with Newt's smiles, and he woke up in a cold sweat, because in none of his dreams, he had been able to stop Newt from jumping.

Those were the days he feared that he might never see Newt smile again.

He remembered worrying for Alby as the muscular boy dashed into the Maze, after Minho reported that Newt wasn't in the Glade. Thirty minutes left until sundown-Nick had to physically restrain Minho from running in again, but he hadn't taken Alby into account. He remembered Alby's hoarse cry for the Med Jacks when he made it through the Doors, two minutes after they were supposed to close. Nobody bothered to solve the mystery of the normally punctual Doors closing late though, the bloodied figure in Alby's white grip was enough to make them ignore that fact.

Alby and Minho had come up with a promise, a pact. And Newt smiled and laughed again, like nothing had happened, except for the telltale way he walked and ran.

Then this whole shucking mess had to happen, and it drove Newt up the wall again. Literally. Alby broke his promise, they left the Maze, he got the Flare.

Minho was the only one left.

"NEWT!" He howled, grief reverberating through the very walls of WICKED. "I WILL SHUCKING KILL YOU!"

 _If you weren't already dead._

Minho fell to the floor and sobbed.

* * *

" _See you in the Maze." Minho attempted a smile._

 _Newt scowled at him. "One month. One bloody month. And you won't even remember me."_

" _Don't fret, Newt. What, you're going to miss us?" Alby joked, but it fell flat at the look on Newt's face._

" _You're all leaving me behind." Newt said, knowing that he sounded like a whiner, but they wouldn't remember it in a few hours anyway._

 _Siggy sighed. "I would stay if I had a choice, but…"_

 _But the world needed to be saved. But WICKED would make them go. But they didn't really have a choice._

 _Newt's face crumpled just a little, and Minho couldn't take it anymore. He dragged the younger boy into a firm hug, mussing up his hair roughly. "If we're going to make this sappy, let's go all the way."_

 _Winston joined in, and then Nick. Newt dragged Alby over with an outstretched arm stuck out from under Minho's armpit. Clint, smiling shyly, tentatively hugged them, before George knocked him into the pile of bodies and limbs, and everyone was shrieking with laughter as they toppled over, smashing down hard onto the couch, Minho taking the brunt of it as he was on the bottom. Zack shook his head, watching them with a smile on his face._

" _Ow! Get off-" Minho was cut off by the other boys, from Nick's roar of laughter to Newt's giggles. Everyone disentangled themselves from the heap, with some effort, finally giving Minho space to breathe and recover._

" _Never again." He said, finally rising from the couch. Newt, sitting cross-legged on the ground, smiled brightly at him, but the others remained somber, knowing that this brief moment of joy would be ripped away from them soon._

 _Among their group of friends, Newt was the only one not picked to be sent up into the Maze in the first big group. There were a couple kids from other friend circles as well. It could be due to Newt's age as thirteen, the youngest of them all, but they were planning to send him up in a month anyway. It could be another of those intricate Variables the Candidates had designed, but they weren't inclined to find out what else was in store for them. They wouldn't remember anyway._

" _Well, they promised that they would give us our memories back when we're done." Alby reminded. "So look on the bright side."_

 _They didn't know when the Ending would be triggered, but all of them had a sinking feeling in their hearts when it was announced that one person would be sent up each month._

 _There were a hundred and fifty kids, give or take, here. Granted, there were two separate Mazes, but how long would it take to go through all of them? A big group sent up in the beginning shaved a lot off that huge number, but still. It would take at least four years._

" _And how long would that take?" Siggy asked sullenly. "They didn't tell us much, but they keep talking about patterns and Variables, and I doubt that we're going to be in for a joyride."_

 _True. Various tests, physical and mental, had been run, but they weren't informed of the results._

" _Well, we just have to tough this out. We aren't babies anymore." Minho said. He gripped Newt's shoulder, hard. "Even you. You need to act grown up, starting now. Be thirty instead of thirteen. You were the baby of our group, but you have to be the adult after we're gone, you get me?"_

" _Minho, maybe that's asking too much. We all know Newt's capable, but-" Nick started, but Alby cut him off._

" _In this world, there're no children anymore, Nick."_

 _His eyes were sad, shadowed. Everyone looked away, some knowing, some just having an inkling of what Alby had been through before WICKED had taken him here, through whispers and shadows._

" _It's okay, Alby." Newt's voice rang through the silence. His lips quirked up in a smile, which, unbeknownst to them, was the last glimpse of innocence any of them would get for a very long time. "You don't have to worry. I will see you in a month."_

 _There was no stress placed upon the word 'will', but everyone knew what that meant._

 _They knew Newt wasn't Immune. They knew that with all the people coming and going in this place, there was no way to keep him truly safe, even though WICKED took the best measures they could. They had kept Newt away from grumpy teachers, away from janitors they hadn't seen before, even away from Gally until an exasperated doctor informed them that Gally's status was Immune. Newt was among those having to be tested once a week, poked and prodded with needles for confirmation they weren't infected yet._

 _Five miraculous years, and Newt was still Flare-free. They didn't dare let down their guard though._

 _A lot could change in a month. A newly hired worker, an Immune not taking the proper precautions, a loosely shut door, and the airborne virus could be on Newt in an instant._

 _Newt was unhappy about being left behind, but the rest worried more about that issue. Especially Alby, who had witnessed his entire family turn upon each other, tearing out flesh and hair, gnawing on his brother's screaming mouth, as he tried to keep Alby safe, as his father and his grandfather bashed each other's face in, laughing in pure delight._

 _WICKED arrived just as his mother had torn his brother's beating heart out and attempted to bite down into the tough, sinewy muscle._

 _He knew what being a Crank truly meant._

 _And he knew that if Newt got infected, he would kill Newt before he ever let the quiet, sweet boy become that._

 _One month._

 _It's just one month._

 _Newt would be safe._

 _Just in case…_

" _You're the best little brother I could ever have." He said, to everyone's shock and surprise. He hid a smile, just as it sank in that he considered Newt to be on par with his own big brother, the one who had died for him, who had been Immune as well._

 _And he was sure his big brother would be happy that he had someone like Newt._

" _Subjects A3, A4, A6, A7, A8, A10, A13, A18, A24, would you please follow me? It's time." A doctor poked her head through the door._

 _Alby ignored her, just as everyone else rose to follow the doctor, waving goodbye to Newt, some giving him another hug, for fear it would be their last. He kept his eyes fixed on the younger boy._

" _And…" He hesitated. Everyone had left, but Minho lingered by the door. "His name was Joshua."_

 _He turned, and left, ignoring Minho's shocked expression, or Newt's gaping mouth. At least his brother's name would be remembered._

 _For another thirty days._

* * *

 _They say a person dies twice. Once when their heart stops beating, and the second time when their name is forgotten._


	15. Chapter 14

_**I…seem to like Dark!Minho more and more.**_

 _ **By the way, I'm upping this chapter to an M rating, that is, if you really really can't handle pain and death and gore, don't read the end of it. Leave a review saying that you didn't read it and I will leave a summary for you through PM. Or if you're a guest, I'll post it at the start of the next chapter. But I'll clarify first-IT JUST HAPPENED I HAVE NO IDEA WHY I WROTE THAT WHY I DID THAT OH DEAR LORD I'M SO SORRY TO MY CHARACTERS**_

 _ **At least I'm better than George R.R. Martin. No one can top him at killing characters.**_

 _ **This may just be me overreacting, because I actually stopped writing when I finished the chapter and just stared at the screen for a good two minutes before I nearly went back and changed that part, but decided to leave it. Hope that it was the right decision.**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Guest: Thank you! Now to make sure it doesn't have anything unwanted…**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: His exams are due to finish in a month. I will be waiting for the Fever Code -*glasses glints ominously* I've been rereading the sample chapters way too many times already.**_

* * *

 _It's hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter 14_

* * *

Watson and Greene were a bit too confident in WICKED, not keeping their guard up as they opened the door to the security room, talking to each other, deliberating the effects of Janson's death.

A wail of fury, a glimpse of grief, a teenage boy-a Candidate-being shoved ruthlessly to one side as another man, older tried to placate the turmoil of emotions that was the Asian boy on the ground.

Then the Asian boy notice them, and raging fury was the last thing Watson saw before he was knocked to the ground, a sharp blow to his temple rendering him immediately out of commission, blood trickling down his face. Greene barely had time to run, but the boy was faster, gripping his shirt collar with a demonic strength, nearly choking him. He stopped struggling, and the boy rewarded him with a quick blow to the head, a quick snap of his neck.

"Minho!" Thomas' voice was sharp, shocked. "You-"

"I gave him what he deserved." Minho said darkly, letting the body fall from his grip. His fists clenched. "He was WICKED scum. Nothing more than a pile of klunk."

Thomas had been part of WICKED too. He gulped, and Vince thankfully chose that moment to show up. He frowned. "Well. Cover's busted, target's dead. Next step?"

"We eradicate this place. Tear down ever single shucking brick." Minho growled. Thomas lowered his gaze, feeling a pang of sadness that he had not just lost Newt, but Minho was gone as well. Minho wasn't the sass loving shuckface he had met in the Maze anymore. He was alive, but in a way, he had died along with Newt.

Vince grinned, and Thomas didn't like the look on his face. "Well, guess what." He said, pulling out his handheld device. "The Bergs coming after us will arrive in an hour. They contain explosives. I have installed a device that would render all WICKED weapons useless. It's a long story. But you will get your wish."

"Excellent, shuckface. What do I need to do?" Minho asked.

* * *

"He isn't dead."

The brunette choked off in the middle of another sob. "He isn't?" He asked, hope colouring his voice. "But he was…"

"Yet." The blond finished off. "WICKED did a number on the poor kid, and you just triggered it. Somehow. I don't know much about their flashy experiments and chemicals, but I think that this kid should have been long dead, even before he escaped. You just helped it catch up to him."

"But we called Commander!" The brunette exclaimed, suddenly frantic. "He has our location, he could be coming for him right now! We have to get him out of here!"

The blond stared at him like he was crazy. "Why? He's dead, either way. By bringing him away we're only prolonging his suffering and bringing hell down upon our heads. You do know that right now WICKED is considered the most powerful force in the world, right? Or what's left of it, anyway. It's our only hope at rebuilding our world. Just leave him. He'll get a swift death, we probably even get rewards, we stay in WICKED. Far away from the Flare, from the Cranks. We'll be safe."

The brunette shook his head. "But what about him? Does he deserve to die without a fighting chance?"

"He looks minutes from death!" The blond exclaimed, throwing out a hand at the pale figure on the ground. "Why do we risk it?"

"I thought he was dead. I thought I killed him." The brunette said, turning the boy over gently. Blood flowed steadily out of his nostrils, and he quickly adjusted the boy so that the blood bubbling from his mouth wouldn't block his airway. "But he's alive. If I don't help him now, nothing would have changed. He would die. And that means I actually killed him, but what's worse, this time I will do it intentionally. I don't want that kind of blood on my conscience."

"Then what do you want to do? Hijack a vehicle? Take him to some village? Leave him to die there? Or be a nanny?"

"I don't know!" The brunette cried out in frustration. "But we can't just deliver him back into being tested by all those prototypes either!"

"Dr. Janson is dead, so the subject on the prototypes remains up for discussion." A calm voice spoke from behind them, and both whirled and fell into a hasty salute. He arched an eyebrow. "And it is concerning to hear my men deliberating deserting us with Dr. Janson's precious subject."

The brunette's face heated, while the blonde scowled fiercely. Neither said anything.

"But it is a relief to hear my men admit that they still have a scrap of good in them." The leader continued, motioning for the other men who had followed him here to pick up the boy, lying on the floor. "Very few of us in the higher levels had the courage to speak up, to stand against Dr. Janson. To do what's right. He treaded the fine thread between good and bad all too skillfully, enough to leave room for doubt. I commend you."

The two of them wasn't sure how to respond, though the brunette was going through a variety of expressions rather fast, while the blonde paled. At last, the brunette blurted, "Sir, you knew about what was being done to him all along? _Why didn't you do anything?_ "

"Shut up with trying to get yourself killed." The blond muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

The leader sighed, turning to walk out of the Maze. "I was weak. After getting the boy to safety, I'm resigning. You can take my place as Commander. Take care of him."

And with that final command, the sky split open with a resounding explosion, a chunk of debris crushing their commander into nothing more than blood and flesh spattered on the floor.

* * *

Ava Paige arrived just in time to see six years of work crumbling away into pieces, the ceiling caving down into the Maze as yet more rigged explosions went off. The pilot froze, slamming the Berg to a halt to avoid the leaping spurts of flame emitted.

In the fairly sized compound which was untouched by the explosions, a small crowd was gathered, some were obviously in a moment of triumph, celebrating, and she had a sudden, cold realization.

The Right Arm.

"Stay hidden." She ordered the pilot. "And zoom in as much as possible and capture a picture of those people."

The pilot obeyed, and three minutes later she was looking at the blurry faces of her remaining subjects.

Subject A2. Thomas Edison. He looked genuinely distraught, but the people around him didn't seem to show him any animosity, and that confirmed her fears that Thomas was in cohorts with the Right Arm. Probably found them right after they were released into Denver. A previous WICKED worker, Brenda was right beside him-the two have grown close. She made a mental note not to let Teresa see the photo. Jorge was there as well, she recognized him, as one of their best pilots and one of the Variables in the Scorch.

Subject A6. Galileo. He was scowling, but joy was emanating from his eyes. Someone had thrown an arm around his shoulders-Gally had been with the Right Arm for a long, long time. Probably ever since they decided he had no further use and left him in Denver.

Subject A7. Minho. The look on his face made Ava Paige briefly consider making a run for it, back to Headquarters where it was safe. The look of pure hatred, a fierce glee and joy at watching the Maze burn down to the ground, was more than a simple grudge towards WICKED.

With a sudden terrible realization, she scanned the photo over and over again, enlarging every face.

Subject A5, Isaac Newton wasn't there.

The flames swallowing the building crackled and threw sparks into the air.

Scorching everyone within it.

* * *

Newt choked himself into wakefulness, and coughed as clouds of rolling black smoke billowed around him.

"Don't panic!" People around him were yelling at each other, running, screaming, seeming panicked for all they were worth. He was being carried, but in the next beat he was tossed to the ground so that his carrier would have a better chance at escape.

He let out a weak moan as his body collided with the scorching floor, dimly noting that flames were starting to lick the ivy vines at the very tops of the wall. The sky was crashing down on him-it took a moment for his brain to catch up that he was in the Maze, and that was only the artfully constructed ceiling.

Newt screamed as he attempted to move away from the Maze wall that was now blazing, only to shift his broken ankle and send a jolt of pain through himself, jerking him into full awareness. No one was around to hear his desperate cries and screams for someone to help him as he dragged himself away from the burning ivy vines falling to the floor. The ground beneath him was starting to get dangerously heated as well.

The Homestead-baths-water.

Somehow, as he crawled away, he got both of his feet under him, ignoring the protest his ankle sent throughout his body and hobbled towards the exit of the Maze as fast as he could.

Questions raced through his hurting head, and blood was starting to drip again-great.

How did the fire start? Who were the people carrying him just now? How would he get out?

He tripped over a fallen chunk of the ceiling at some point, and ended up crawling on his hands and knees. Like an animal.

He didn't care. At this point, his only goal was to stay alive.

Exhausted, he reached the Doors, rushing through them, just in time to see three years work on the Homestead go up in a swath of flames. The grass itself was scorched and brown, some already blowing away as ash. Newt scrambled for what was left of the toilet, turned the tap on despite the heat searing his hand-

Scalding water erupted from it, and Newt shrieked, darting backwards. He wasn't using his brain properly. Of course the water would be hot! The fire had probably already reached the water pipes-who knows how long this could last. How much of the flames could be held back.

Newt left the tap running, and clambered towards the Box. Other than the Griever Hole, this was his only avenue of escape. He crawled painfully towards it, narrowly avoiding a piece of debris that nearly took his head off. At least here, in open space, he had more places to dodge.

He reached the Box, and screwed up the courage to jump into it. If he landed wrong, it would be _hell_ on his ankle.

An ominous sounding crack emanated from the ceiling, and Newt didn't stop to think-he lurched his body forwards, hurling himself into the Box, slamming the metal grate closed-

"Wait!"

A blond man emerged, jumping onto the top of the Box, onto the metal grate, eyes widening in horror as the Box started to descend, as Newt jumped frantically, trying to yank the grate open so that the man could join him in relative safety-

The piece of debris slammed into the man, mashing him against the grate.

Newt closed his eyes as blood, flesh and guts splattered all around him.

* * *

 _The spear leaves Minho's hand without him even thinking about it, but almost immediately he wishes that he uses his hands for something better._

 _Not to kill, but to help, to prevent, to save._

 _Chuck, Newt and Thomas are entangled on the ground, blood seeping out from one of them, spreading in an ever widening radius._

 _In that brief, terrifying second it takes for them to realize who the blood is coming from, Minho wonders who he would rather lose. Newt, their leader, his best friend? Thomas, the klunkhead idiot, their savior? Chuck, the innocent boy, the baby of the group?_

 _He determines a preference within that few milliseconds, and he hates himself for it._

 _Then Thomas rises shakily, pulling Newt and Chuck up with him. All three look equally shaken, but the dark stain is on Newt's shoulder, and Chuck is sobbing and apologizing, admitting that he didn't know what had come over him, to use his body as a shield instead of flinging himself into Thomas and carrying both of them out of harm's way with the momentum. It takes Newt to throw himself at them, and the added weight decreased their speed, hence the bullet nailing him. At least it is not fatal._

 _Gally is motionless on the ground. Probably dead._

 _The woman who led Gally here is backing off in surprise, while the scientists behind the glass wall are muttering and talking among themselves. Minho strains his ears, wanting to ignore Gally for one more second._

 _ **This wasn't supposed to happen.**_

 _ **The Variables are thrown out of control! The Trials-the Candidate's patterns-**_

 _He narrows his eyes, picks up the spear from Gally's body. Blood gushes out from the wound, and Minho does not bother to stop it. Newt's own wound is being applied pressure to by Clint, though he looks lost without Jeff, his long time partner._

 _ **The subjects are aware, stop talking now!**_ _A voice rises, and Minho buries the spear into the woman. "WICKED." He snarls, and turns to face the glass wall separating them from the hated people studying them like animals._

" _Minho!" Newt realizes what Minho is intending. He moves to stand by him, pale and lines of pain creased into his face, but alive._

 _This draws the attention of Thomas and the other Gladers, who have been so focused on Newt that they didn't notice the woman's demise. They look from him to the scientists, torn between urging him on and just getting the hell out of here as fast as possible._

 _ **Get rid of the Factor, then proceed as planned!**_ _A voice booms._ _ **With luck, the removal of the Factor will have the same effect!**_

 _The Gladers' attention is snapped up, and they look uncertainly at each other._

 _What was supposed to happen? Thomas being killed? Chuck being shot? Newt being killed? Gally not firing at all?_

 _What would they remove?_

 _Gally rises behind Minho, bloodied but alive, and raises his pistol once more. Thomas and Chuck move at the same time, but collide into each other as Thomas tries to run for Gally while Chuck attempts to reach Minho, to push him out of harm's way. It is the only logical guess, that Gally would shoot the person who injured him._

 _The Gladers are screaming, running towards them._

 _But the bullet is always faster than the human._

 _Minho turns at the sound of the gunshot, and catches Newt just as he falls forward, life pouring out of him._


	16. Chapter 15

_**This is it. Two more chapters and the story will be finished. Thanks for sticking to it all this time!**_

 _ **No drabble at the end this time. This chapter is already longer than originally planned.**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Guest: Newt…may or may not die. To be honest, I finally made up my mind about whether I was going to keep him alive when I finished this chapter, but the answer will be in the next chapter. Just so that I don't spoil my own story XD**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Same thing…the answer to whether Newt survives or not will be revealed in the next chapter! I'll explain my reasons with an added bottom author note then, so please be patient**_ _ **But yes, our favorite Ivy Trio is finally reunited! Though not in the way we were hoping for…**_

* * *

 _I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Fifteen_

* * *

" _Everyone, gather up around the front! The rest of the exits have been sealed off-any survivors would have to come out of the front. We will kill them ourselves."_

The lift clanged to a halt, and the doors opened with a lot of creaking and groaning, in contrast to the smoothness it had displayed on a normal day. Nevertheless, the lift was well built, and Newt was thankful for that, since he was _not_ looking forward to death by asphyxiation, or dehydration.

He tiredly limped out of the lift, and raised his head to find a dozen guns cocked and aimed at him. The smoke shielded their features from sight, and Newt could only spot silhouettes rising all around him, shouts and commands being given. He opened his mouth to yell at them, but only a hoarse croaking could be emitted. The smoke he inhaled must have damaged his respiratory system. He would have a hell of the next few days…if he lived to see them.

People were shouting at each other in glee, trying to decide who would have the pleasure of taking down WICKED's final associate.

 _I'm not WICKED._ Newt thought, bloody annoyed. He managed a few more unsteady steps forward, wanting to show them that very fact, that he was one of those so called subjects, that he hated WICKED just as much as they did.

"Stop!" Someone yelled, and he vaguely registered that it sounded familiar, before his vision suddenly blacked out.

* * *

Thomas had been subdued ever since they found out about Newt's death, only following Vince and Minho as they unloaded the shipments of explosives, rigging them up in strategic parts of the building, taking care to avoid the Glade and the Maze, knowing that there were men in there, despite their weapons having been rendered useless by now. They made up for that by planting explosives on the roof by utilizing their Bergs.

He didn't know whether Vince had left the elevator shaft untouched out of the kindness of his heart so that at least the innocents stood a chance of escape, or pure sadism where he wanted to kill every last WICKED worker by his hands, to give them hope and snatch it away with the smoking barrel of a gun. Already a couple of stragglers from the second floor had been done away with a couple of clean shots as soon as they exited the lift and their white garb made it apparent that they were scientists working for WICKED.

Minho had watched on beside Thomas, had fired one of the three shots himself, the supposed _honor_ given to him by Vince. The Right Arm had cheered as one when the terrified man collapsed to the ground, blood spilling out from a well placed shot to the head, eyes wide with terror.

The lift opened for the third time, and a figure made its way out, shrouded in smoke and debris. The Right Arm lifted their firearms in unison, eager for blood.

It terrified Thomas that he had allied himself with this group, that Minho had fit in seamlessly with them, that Jorge and Brenda were already laughing and talking with other members of the Right Arm.

"Can we just shoot right now? The git is moving like a turtle, and my arms are getting tired." A woman called, a little too trigger happy for Thomas' liking. "I'm sure everyone in there isn't worth letting alive anyway."

"Go ahead." Vince said, not even looking. He was already making arrangements to seal off the lift and leave the place, now that the initial excitement was over. "He should be the last one."

The figure limped forward a few steps, just as the woman started joking with the men and women alongside her who would get the dibs on this shot.

The gait was familiar. Stirring up memories too painful to ignore, too fresh to let go. That limp, that posture…

The woman cocked her rifle, apparently having decided that she would be the one, and her finger flicked towards the trigger.

"Stop!" Thomas yelled, and Minho twisted, and horror crossed both of their faces as the figure fell onto the ground. Minho dashed towards the fallen figure, while Thomas turned to the woman, who was looking at them in disbelief and curiosity as her rifle was ripped from her hands.

"I did nothing, I swear." She said casually as Minho reemerged from the cloud of smoke, a figure cradled in his arms like a porcelain doll. A broken one.

"Newt." Thomas breathed, dropping the rifle. People had turned to look at them, some in open distrust, some with dawning realization. Brenda, Jorge and Vince were in the latter category.

Minho's eyes were wide with shock and his arms were trembling. Thomas gently slid his arms under the fragile burden Minho was carrying, letting Minho's arms go slack as the other boy finally realized the implications of this discovery.

Newt…was alive.

That video. There was more going on behind the scenes that they thought, apparently.

More pieces started to fall in place. Why WICKED had been so empty, why they had been able to take over with little to no trouble, why Newt had destroyed the Beetle Blade.

Newt had escaped. He was running from WICKED, towards the Griever Hole, most likely, since that was the only exit that actually offered him a chance. WICKED may have built the Maze, but they didn't spend years running it. WICKED, in a brilliantly stupid move, had deployed all personnel after their escaped test subject. Newt hadn't taken the chance that they had someone on surveillance though, and smashed the Beetle Blade. He had probably climbed the walls to escape the soldiers after him.

"We could have killed him." Minho whispered shakily, and Thomas froze midway his action of lowering Newt to the ground so that a few medics the Right Arm had brought along would be able to do their jobs. He quickly continued in his action, but what Minho had said was too heavy for him to shake off.

Shuck, they had set off _explosives_ all over the building their friend was in. _Knowing_ that his body was still there. Not considering that fact that he may still be alive. That their eyes had misleaded them.

"How is he?" Thomas asked, not wanting to dwell on that thought.

Brenda looked up at him, face grim. "Maybe we should move somewhere safer than this. But he will stay alive."

And that was the best they could hope for at the moment.

* * *

"Aris." Teresa put down the communicator, and said the boy's name in a tone so serious that Aris' heart nearly stopped. He carefully swiveled the screen he was using out of the way to face Teresa properly.

"Yeah?"

"Tom and Minho blew the base up with the Right Arm's help. Janson's dead, by the looks of it. The Chancellor is currently hiding until they leave." Teresa's shoulders slumped, a defeated sigh escaping her. "It's over."

" _What?_ " Aris stood, making sure that the private workspace was sealed, earning himself a glare from Teresa.

"Did you really think I would say that without checking first? Anyway, Chancellor Paige would not contact us again until she is safely out of reach, in fear of communication interceptions. For now, we have to hold down the fort, make a plan of action as to how to deal with the Right Arm and its newly acquired allies, and make the necessary alterations in our plans for the blueprints. We may need them much sooner."

"Teresa!" Aris interrupted her unceasing flow of words, each laying down a new obstacle for them to overcome. "What about Thomas? Minho? Newt? Their current statuses?"

The rest of Group A and Group B had been sent to their current facility, but they didn't have access to information like Teresa or Aris, who were Candidates. Candidates for brain surgery, but they always, selfishly, had a sense of safety that they wouldn't be the chosen one, just the backup. Thomas had always outperformed them. When they were younger, there would always be feelings of resentment and jealousy, but now they were just glad to be alive.

Teresa turned her head to the side ever so slightly, the line of her mouth curling downwards slightly. "Thomas and Minho have gone rogue. Classify that information though. Newt…is dead."

Aris took the news fairly well, with a slight widening of the eyes, but overall, something like that had to happen sooner or later. Releasing them had been a mistake, as Teresa had told Ava Paige many times, but Ava Paige trusted Janson's judgment that more patterns would be obtained this way, by putting them in an environment which they knew WICKED couldn't influence anymore.

Their Glue, dead though…that was a little unexpected, given that the duo would fairly have done anything to prevent that from happening. It was unlikely that they would blow up WICKED without making an effort to make sure their leader-Second in Command, whatever-was safe and sound. Unless Janson had a hand in that death. Causing it. Making them angry enough to blow up WICKED's base.

The pieces fit together a little too well.

"Did Janson…kill Newt?" Aris said, voice barely a whisper.

Teresa looked at him a little helplessly. "Does it matter? They're both dead. Thomas is out of the question, Aris, and you know what that means. Chancellor Paige may or may not return. This base, this _mission_ , is up to us right now. The next Candidate is _me_ , Aris. You will have to run the base. Figure out what to do, what to tell the others."

Aris looked at Teresa in a mixture of awe and horror. "You are going to let them-us, take your brain?"

Teresa couldn't meet his eyes, staring at the floor. What do you say? But then again, she had nothing left to preserve, nothing to save. She didn't care anymore. "Just…don't touch Tom. He finally escaped this place. Don't go after him, don't look for him. Let him disappear. I will be enough."

Throughout this entire conversation, this was the only time she had called him 'Tom'.

Aris pulled Teresa into a hug. If anything, he would make sure that her last wish was honored.

"I promise."

* * *

 _Medical Report_

 _Patient: Isaac 'Newt' Newton_

 _Blood type: A_

 _Allergies: Unknown_

 _Injuries: Low blood pressure, low blood sugar, concussion, broken right ankle (open fracture), first degree burns on back, second degree burns on limbs, blood poisoning, bacterial infection, low immunity, the Flare. Further medical evaluation required. (Neurologist needed to be consulted)_

 _Cause(s) of injury: Harmful chemical exposure, harmful chemical ingestion, Exhaustion, Minor dehydration, Slight starvation, Brute force, Fire, Smoke inhalation, Excess movement, Exposure to virus._

 _Status: Unstable. Monitor around the clock. Unconscious._

 _Actions: Insulin drip (4.0 mm/Hg) to be refilled every two hours. Ankle reset, wrapped and splinted, to be cast. Burns iced, cleaned and wrapped. Antibiotics fed orally. Oxygen mask. Nothing to do be done for experimental effects or Flare. Quarantine from non-Immunes._

 _*Diagnosis made 12.00 a.m. Insulin drip started 4.0 mm/Hg, 250 ml._

Minho shakily dropped the piece of paper. Thomas picked it up and pinned it back to the chart on the small table beside the bed.

"Thomas." He whispered hoarsely, covering his face with his hands, leaning backwards, taking a deep breath. Avoiding looking at the white figure in the bed before them, oxygen mask strapped to his face, a shucking _needle_ in his vein, a heart monitor strapped to his index finger…

The list of things wrong with Newt could go on forever, and not just the brief statement on the crisp, white paper.

And it was all his fault.

He could feel Thomas standing there, unsure what to do. He knew Thomas was debating whether he should comfort Minho or not, and he hated that he needed it.

So he told him to go.

"I will watch over him. Get some sleep, shank."

 _*2.00 a.m. Insulin drip swapped for 4.0 mm/Hg, 250ml. No change in status._

Minho couldn't avoid looking at Newt forever, obviously. He opened his eyes blearily to watch the nurse enter and change the IV bag, shooting him a distrustful look as she went.

 _She has every right to,_ Minho thought angrily, though directed at himself. _After all, I was the one who helped blow him up without even checking._

She scribbled something on the paper Thomas had clipped to the clipboard, and left the room. Minho rubbed his eyes, checking to see that nothing had changed in Newt's condition.

It could be the exhaustion catching up to him, it could be the stress, pressure and guilt, or it could be the magic of midnight, or the time close to it, anyway. Either way, Minho cleared his throat, the small sound breaking the silence, and he found himself caught up in a spiel, words tumbling from his mouth without making any real sense to him, talking and talking, letting the sound of his voice, Newt's heart monitor, and the sound of Newt's breathing filling the oxygen mask fill the empty room.

"Chuck near pissed himself when he came up, the cute little shank. You pinched his cheeks. Alby nearly smiled, that grumpy grandpa. Course, Nick had to up you by terrifying the klunk out of the kid by not warning him about the Doors, and we decided to try the same thing with Thomas. Got a real scare, both Greenies. I'm lucky I was one of the first, ya know. No one ever got to call me Greenie. You were the first unlucky shank."

Leaping from one random thought to another, Minho talked and talked and imagined that Newt could hear him.

 _*4.00 a.m. Insulin drip swapped for 4.0 mm/Hg, 250 ml. Patient's breathing stabilizing._

"…you know, Thomas and I had a big fight before we came back for you. During the journey, anyway. We got our memories back, did I tell you? They aren't exactly happy. Did you get yours? I hope you did, but-"

Minho snapped his mouth shut as soon as he heard the nurse turning the doorknob. It felt embarrassing enough to himself, talking aloud to an unconscious person with no response at all, and the content didn't help much. But it was also strangely relieving, in a way.

The nurse entered, a fresh bag of liquid in her hand. She carefully went through the procedure of switching the drips, avoiding Minho's gaze as she did so. This was a different nurse, and her reasons for being uncomfortable were obvious. She was alone in a room with a guy (ignoring the unconscious one) peering at her in the middle of the night. And the medical services were quite understaffed at the moment, with most Immunes with the necessary medical knowledge having been recruited by WICKED, causing the hospitals to only have a few staff on duty at any given hour of the day.

She did the routine checks, and cast a surprised glance at Minho before walking over to write something down on the clipboard. Minho leaned forward worriedly, deciding to grab that clipboard and see what she wrote once she left. Newt had to be okay, Newt couldn't get worse-

"Whatever you were doing, keep doing it." The nurse smiled shyly at him as she opened the door to leave. "His breathing's stabilized. I'll check with the doctor to see whether we can get that mask off."

She left, and Minho hugged Newt's body close in a fit of joy, not noticing that the door hadn't closed all the way.

The nurse smiled. It was moments like this that she loved her job, no matter how many sleepless nights it cost her.

 _*4.30 a.m. Oxygen mask removed._

Minho had let go of Newt and gotten over the initial surge of elation when the nurse reentered the room along with a harried looking doctor. The doctor didn't say much, just asked Minho a few rushed questions, most of which he wasn't sure she had even heard the response to, jabbed a needle into Newt's vein, checked the clipboard, and told the nurse that Newt had the green light to go off the oxygen mask.

The nurse nodded her understanding, and the doctor left as fast as she had come. The nurse carefully plucked off the oxygen mask, and only then did Minho notice that Newt had a tube going down his throat as well, presumably to feed him the much needed nutrients he hadn't gotten for the past few days. She fiddled with the machine at his bedside, turning it off and carting it away. She left the door open though, so she probably intended to return.

"Say, shank." Minho leaned back in his chair, suddenly feeling so very tired, now that he had observed a notable change in his friend's condition, relaxing and assured that he wouldn't wake up to a dead body. "You'd better wake up before me, eh?" He smiled, yawning. "Or I'll pull that water bucket trick on you again. Remember how mad you were? Alby had to assign us to different sections of the Maze…that…day…"

The nurse returned to make another notation on the clipboard, noticing that Minho had drifted off, head pillowed on the patient's stomach.

"You can come in now." She said softly.

Thomas entered the room hesitatingly in his pajamas, to continue their bedside vigil.

 _*6.00 a.m. Blood glucose level rising. Insulin drip swapped for 3.0 mm/Hg._

Thomas curiously watched the nurse swap the drip, jab Newt with needles, and take some readings. He heard a satisfied hum, and tension bled out of his body as the nurse jotted down something else on the clipboard. It was still dark outside, but already the small, quiet town of Jackson had started to show signs of life. The town had been as far north as they could go, especially with Minho and Thomas pushing desperately for Newt to receive proper medical treatment as fast as possible. The town hadn't been hit too bad by the solar flares, due to the placement in a colder region, and the amount of greenery surrounding it. Even so, the Flare had wiped out nearly half of its population, and the Cranks turning on them killing more. The wide area they occupied helped though, the Cranks being herded into the woods, and they closed off their area, seeming to the world a dead town, just like so many others.

But the Right Arm had a base there, and so Jackson it was. Though Newt had been dangerously close to being thrown out of town-being a carrier of the Flare. They had informed the townspeople purely out of good will, since they didn't have any of the advanced technology to test for the Flare, but Thomas had regretted it when they reacted poorly, demanding that Newt be sent into the forest reserves where all the other Cranks were, never mind that he was unconscious and the main reason they had even stopped here in the first place. Minho had looked ready to spit fire, but Vince had calmly informed them about the situation, tweaking a few truths-he's an escaped subject of WICKED, he aided them in taking down WICKED-and if there was one thing the people of Jackson hated more than the Flare, it was WICKED. So they reluctantly agreed to one night.

And shuck it all, but Thomas was grateful for that small allowance. Newt had stabilized during the night, and that would definitely be a weight off their hearts when they resumed the journey. To Canada, to Europe. Anywhere far away from WICKED, where they could start anew.

 _Newt has the Flare._

There was still that to deal with. Newt's death was inevitable, and Janson had only quickened it. So why were they dragging him from death's door, a relief for him?

He remembered Newt plunging to his death from the Maze wall, how the brain patterns spiked and plunged and suddenly faded away into small ripples, signifying unconsciousness.

"His blood glucose level is rising." The nurse said aloud, knowing that they would want to know. Then, unaware of his expertise in that subject, she added, "That's a good thing."

Thomas threw his head back as quiet laughter bubbled from within himself.

Even if they were only prolonging the unavoidable, the little moments of happiness like this would be worth it.

Unseen by Thomas, Minho cracked one eye open to peer at his friend, and closed it again.

Unobserved by anyone in the room, a corner of Newt's mouth twitched upwards.


	17. Chapter 16

_**Okay, so the drabble at the end this time is a little preview of the next fic I'm going to write. I'm putting it there first so I can see what type of response I'll be receiving, and I'll tweak the length in accordance to the support.**_

 _ **Thanks to everyone who has been reading thus far! Next chapter will be the epilogue, and I already have it written out in my head. I hope that you guys will be satisfied with the ending I have chosen. : ) And I promised last chapter that you will find out whether Newt lives or dies in this chapter, but I couldn't resist the cliffhanger. Don't worry, I think I put enough clues in there for you to guess.**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Thanks! I've always believed in the quote 'Write something you would want to read', so I've been doing my best to keep my writing standards up to my reading standards. Check out the drabble below and see if you would want a zombie apocalypse fic! (I'm actually curious as to how many clichés I would avoid and how many I would smash into head on…) I've been reading too many fanfic versions of zombie apocalypses…**_

* * *

 _It's going to be alright, not today, but someday._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Chapter Sixteen_

* * *

"Are you sure? Really sure? You do know that Chancellor Paige has a backup plan if we happen to be unable to find the Cure. Thomas will be safe that way as well."

Teresa cast a sad look at Aris. "There will always be more Jansons. More people desperate for a Cure, pushing for us to kidnap more Immunes, take more lives. If word leaks that there is a top Candidate out there, there'll be a manhunt. The blueprints have never been enough, and no Paradise can be fully safe. This is the only way, Aris."

Aris hesitated, the syringe containing anesthesia hovering in the air. "But…" He sighed. "I see you have made up your mind. You sure about not leaving anything on the datapad though?" A will, last words. It felt wrong that in a couple of hours, Teresa Agnes would be no more, only a body and hopefully a Cure to mark her existence on earth. No words, no letters would remain of what her personality had been.

Teresa shook her head, a genuine smile on her face. "I don't want you seeking Thomas out to tell him anything."

Aris closed his eyes, and opened it with a new resolve. He inserted the syringe into the vein on Teresa's arm, pushed the plunger, and pulled it out, discarding it in the trash. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

Teresa lay down on the cold, hard gurney, feeling consciousness seep away from her. It felt peaceful and relaxing, and Teresa wasn't terrified anymore by the thought of death. She closed her eyes, exhaling happily. "If you do see him…tell Tom that…I only ever wanted us to be…free."

She drifted off completely at that point, and Aris signaled for the doctors to enter and start the operation before leaving the room. He strode calmly down the corridor and turned into an empty room before he broke down and cried.

Despite having a hand in building the Mazes that had trapped the subjects for years, being an integral part of WICKED which had trapped them for most of their short lives, Thomas and Teresa were finally free.

Rachel would be so happy to see her best friend again.

* * *

Thomas had panicked when he witnessed Newt's first nosebleed.

"Shuck-tissues-what-is he okay? What's happening?"

"Calm down, shank." Newt tilted his head upwards, but a few crimson spots appeared on the white sheets anyway. Minho quickly caught the rest of the falling blood drops with the proffered tissues, and handed them to Newt. Thomas shifted uneasily, eyes travelling from Newt to the exasperated doctor.

"We don't _know_. Firstly, WICKED is the top in the field and has access to a lot of chemicals, and they took a lot of the top doctors in the field, so I have no idea what the heck was in the chemical cocktail, or cocktails, they gave him. So I've no idea what the effect is on him. Secondly, this is not my field. I was an obstetrician before the shortage of doctors made me learn more about the other fields. We don't have the necessary medical equipment to do a thorough checkup either. So unless he's having a baby, I won't be of much help." The doctor snapped, though inwardly snorting as Minho nearly choked at the absurdity of Newt having a baby.

"Janson said it's supposed to stop me from thinking." Newt said tiredly. "Because that's what's causing the Flare to move faster. When I'm trying to figure something out, I get a nosebleed, then a headache."

"So it could be charged by the electrochemical signals fired off by your brain cells, right? It could be temporary, but-when did it start anyway?"

"I can't remember. It makes my bloody head hurt." Newt slumped into the bed.

"…a tumor." Minho said.

Horror dawned on all of their faces.

The cure to cancer, and tumors had been found about a decade ago, but that was when they had the equipment and environment necessary to do it in. To make matters worse, chemically induced tumors were unexplored medical ground, and no one could be sure of the effects. Whether the cure would even work.

And after that, there was still the Flare to deal with.

Newt spoke after a moment. "Well, I guess a day is a day. No point klunking our pants over it."

Minho and Thomas, of course, were reluctant to let it go, but what other choice did they have? The Right Arm had already indulged them enough as it was, flying them all the way to Jackson and offering them refuge in their base. They were living in a world on the brink of crumbling, and already the Right Arm was decaying, having achieved its main objective of blowing up WICKED's main research base. WICKED still existed, but Ava Paige was no longer at the helm, having mysteriously disappeared since the Right Arm had blown up the research facility.

Thomas was not inclined to investigate her death.

With the two at the top of the chain of command gone, the main research facility blown up, WICKED would gradually dissolve within a month, Vince estimated.

"So, shank." Minho said after yet another minute of silence. "Where do you want to go?"

* * *

They took Newt to Europe, and spent a week there trying to figure out which city used to be London. They no longer had the Right Arm to help them, their flight to Europe on the Berg was the last favor given, and their knowledge of the outside world was limited, but they still managed to score an abandoned house in a relatively Crank free area and keep all three well fed. It snowed the fourth day, and Minho had to calm a hyperventilating Newt who was hacking up blood while screaming and crying while Thomas foraged for antibiotics to soothe a raging fever that had cropped up during the night.

Newt spotted a familiar landmark the eighth day, leaning on his crutch after a day of hopping about, and the ninth day they found Newt's old house.

"It was snowing that day too." Newt murmured, cupping the melting snow in his hands. He didn't elaborate, and Thomas and Minho didn't ask. They had a fairly good idea of what had occurred anyway.

The tenth day, Newt didn't wake up in the morning.

He woke up when it was well into the evening, and Thomas cried silent tears of relief. Minho forcefully made the decision that they should get out of this place and into a protected city-they had been lucky so far, but if worse came to worst and their safe haven was attacked, they didn't want to take the chance.

Newt pointed out that the cities wouldn't allow a Crank in.

"How about we go North?" Thomas asked. "The effect of the Flares wouldn't be as bad there. There's bound to be a few unsettled, isolated places. We don't need much, we're just three. We can go there, stay for a while."

Until Newt dies, that is.

"You don't have to-we could always go to a city." Newt said. He had sat up on the sofa which had served as his bed the night before, when he had lain down for a quick nap and couldn't wake up until now. "The Crank Palace-"

"-is a shuck place. You are not going there." Minho said in a tone that carried finality. "We go north."

"Um, what's north?" Newt asked.

"I don't know, Russia, probably. I heard it had some pretty harsh winters before the Flares, so now I guess it's more of in the middle. But further north there'll be lots of floods." Thomas said, trying to remember what had been taught in Geography before they pulled him out of those classes to aid in the research.

It was slow going, since the roads were blocked even if they got a car. They tried motorcycles, but Minho nearly crashed the one he was riding on with Newt the second day when they ran into a group of Cranks. Thankfully they weren't past the Gone yet, and Thomas was able to convince them that they were Cranks as well, roaming the country, and didn't have anything on them, so they let them go, minus the bikes.

The further north they got, the more frequent the impromptu snow storms were, and they were suddenly tossed into a new battle to find shelter and food, enough to last how many days the storms would last. The first time they assumed the storm would be short, it proved them wrong by blowing out the generator in the building they had taken cover in, and proceeded to rage on for an additional four days. They were lucky that their shelter was an office building, and had vending machines plus a cafeteria, but on the bad side, it turned out that there were four Cranks past the Gone on the fifth floor, and Minho had to block the huge, fancy double doors with tables and chairs while Thomas sprinted down the stairs, dragging Newt with him, until Minho called that they didn't seem to be breaking through any time soon.

They had survived on snacks and soft drinks, running out on the third day. Newt had fallen unconscious on the second day, the combined cold and nutrient deprivation being too much. He already had a lot of trouble staying conscious lately, bleeding from his nose even while trying to choose between Pepsi and 7Up. The prototype Janson had given him seemed to be intent on shutting down his thought process completely, knocking him out more and more often, and causing agony whenever they tried to discuss anything with him. Minho had stopped sharing plans with Newt already, and it was obvious that Newt hated being left out of the loop, but if he even tried to think about the pros and cons, he would have a major migraine in it for him.

The only upside to this strange illness (tumor?) was that the Flare seemed to be making next to zero progress within his brain. Sometimes, Thomas allowed himself to hope that this way, Newt would survive long enough for WICKED to come up with a Cure, but then he remembered that they had destroyed most of WICKED's research along with that base.

The second time, they horded enough food for a week, only to have the storm stop after three hours, when they'd just settled down and made enough preparations to last the week.

They learned to cope with the unstable storms after two weeks, but Newt's progressing illness alarmed them, and they had no idea as to what they could do. Their friend seemed to be gradually able to fight the effects of falling unconscious whenever he tried to think hard about something, developing a resistance to the drug, but the drug fought back harder. If it couldn't make him fall unconscious, it was going to at least make him unable to think while conscious. Seizures, spasms, violent cramps and muscle contractions that left him screaming and writhing on the floor while they could do nothing but watch. The distance they covered each day grew lesser and lesser, until they finally reached what used to be a forest reserve and Minho decided they had gone far enough.

"What do we do?" Minho whispered to Thomas, when Newt was safely bundled up and asleep in the corner. They were in the second floor of an apartment building near the forest, since the melted snow had flooded the ground floor. "I can't think of anything, shucking nothing, to help him. But it feels _wrong_ just sitting here and waiting for him to die."

Thomas couldn't give him an answer. What made Minho think that he would know?

But the past few days of deterioration in Newt's condition actually gave him hope.

"His body is learning how to fight off the drug." He said to Minho, unsure whether he should be doing this even as he was giving the information away. "No one with the Flare has actually survived this long without going past the Gone…maybe, given enough time, his immune system can produce the necessary immunogens to fight off the Flare as well."

Minho lowered his voice even more. "So you are saying that, he may or may not have a chance. We can only wait for him to either die or get better. Is that it, shank?"

"…yes." Thomas fought the urge to cover his face with his hands. That would be showing despair, pronouncing Newt's situation to be a hopeless one. This was the one thing they could not fight, that they had to leave up to fate and chance. And he hated that feeling of not being able to help.

But he trusted that if anyone could do it, it would be Newt.

* * *

" _Cranks!" Thomas warned._

" _Way ahead of you, shank." Minho squinted at the approaching Cranks, spear at the ready. "Say, want to try to capture one more? The last one we got is too shucked up right now, and we probably need a Control anyway."_

" _You want to try? I'm not stopping you from killing yourself. It's a horde out there, shuckface." Newt said, his rifle resting on his lap, while he kept a wary eye on the Crank they had caught two weeks before. They were experimenting with the Cranks, see whether they could die of starvation or dehydration. If they could, then they could expect an end to this entire mess._

 _Apparently a facility named WICKED, had been tasked with investigating everything Hollywood-that is, drawing up evacuation plans, negotiation plans, in case of an alien invasion, zombie apocalypse, huge monster causing destruction, mutants, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, anything really. It had been kept secret because many would be outraged that their tax dollars were going towards something that outrageous, but the government figured that they should better be safe than sorry._

 _Chancellor Ava Paige was appointed as the leader of WICKED, and Assistant Director Janson as her right hand. They worked together well, Janson submitting the extreme ideas and her tamping them down to a manageable degree._

 _Then she had to take a leave of absence due to a sudden pregnancy._

 _During that time, Janson decided that in case of a zombie apocalypse, they should create a similar enough virus, use it on a prisoner destined for the death row, and study the zombie's senses and resilience to make a clearer plan. The virus was developed within eight months, and they used it on the prisoner, collecting useful data and actually convincing everyone that this had been the best move so far._

 _Then Chancellor Paige returned three months after, and Janson scrambled to hide the zombie and the virus._

 _Of course, the zombie had to escape during the process, spreading the virus and causing the very apocalypse that they were supposed to prevent._

 _Newt shook his head. "No. One is enough. I don't-we don't need more." His breath caught a little, but only Thomas noticed._

" _How many?" Minho asked. Thomas peered through his binoculars again. "Five."_

" _Are they heading this way?"_

" _Shoot them." Thomas didn't give a direct answer, but that was enough. Newt stood, aiming the rifle as Minho switched places with him. At this distance, his spear wouldn't do any good. Newt's weapon was the only weapon they had with a long range, and they hadn't had the luck to come across another firearm yet. Minho had lost his sometime before they ran into Thomas._

 _Newt closed his eyes, steadied the rifle, and opened his eyes with a renewed focus._

 _Five quick bursts of fire, and Newt lowered the weapon. "Threat eliminated."_


	18. Epilogue

_**Aaaaand this chapter is the end. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing! If there's anyone who reviews after this, if you have an account I'll reply to you there, but if you're a guest, then well, be sure that your support is appreciated.**_

 _ **Self-advert here: I may start a new story with our favorite characters next year, which wouldn't be long, about ten (but you all know how my last chapter estimate turned out) chapters, featuring a zombie apocalypse universe. Preview was last chapter, by the way. I'm still not sure what I'm naming it, but keep an eye out!**_

 _ **Response to reviews:**_

 _ **Maze Runner Junkie: Here you go, the answer to Newt's survival : ) I hope you like the ending! And thanks for reviewing every chapter of this story until the very end-I find myself waiting for your reviews sometimes XD**_

* * *

 _There is no real ending. It's just the place where you stop the story._

* * *

 _Prototype_

 _Epilogue_

* * *

The lone teenage boy in the middle of the room sat cross-legged on the floor of the bare, empty room. His hands clutched a vile, black weapon. There was only blankness and apathy within his brown eyes as he raised the gun to his head and squeezed the trigger smoothly.

A loud bang resounded throughout the huge building, but no one came. The boy's head snapped in the opposite direction of the gun due to the force of the explosion, and the recoil sent the gun flying out of his hand, skittering into a corner as the boy's body folded in on itself, collapsing in slow motion as blood splattered onto the bare, white walls.

Red spread out in a beautiful pool around the motionless boy, whose life had already left him a long time ago.

The time between their failed attempt at a final Cure and the disbanding of WICKED had only been a fleeting shadow, time necessary to obtain the gun, time to send all of the Immunes far, far away, where they could start a new life.

All except one.

Aris looked forward to meeting Rachel and Teresa again.

* * *

Six months later, a doctor in the northen part of Norway had a sudden idea to sedate a couple of Flare patients who weren't yet past the Gone and keep them in an artificial coma for three months. The other doctors said she was crazy to think that it could work, since WICKED should already have tried it, but Dr Hong Pei Nan was adamant that they at least give it a shot. After all, the world was working its way to a gradual end, and the best they could do was to prolong it.

Four months later, Norway announced to the world (what was left of it) that they may have found a Cure.

Some chose to believe, some did not. After all, how could a under-equipped and under-staffed clinic in the cold mountains of Norway possibly hope to achieve what WICKED did not? The desperate ones that have not yet lost their sanity flocked to Norway, hoping to be given the same treatment, and a few of the younger doctors, bright eyed and curious, could barely wait until the third batch of patients were cleared and they announced their methods to the world.

A coma.

The world was thrown into a frenzy, a couple of the Crank Palaces being converted last minute into treatment facilities. The Right Arm had dissolved, only to have a new organization calling itself the MAZE, Management of Artificial Zone Experiments rise up to fill the power gap, organizing the Cranks and sending them in to receive treatment based on how close they were to the Gone, so that more could be saved. A woman was heading it as well, but she called herself Brenda, and was every bit the opposite of Ava Paige as they could hope for. The Norway doctors were still working on saving those past the Gone, but ever since the doctor that made the initial discovery disappeared off the radar after the first batch of patients made it through, they seemed to be making zero progress. Some wondered whether she was an angel sent from the heavens to save humanity, due to her sudden prominence and abrupt disappearance, and some started to worship her as a saint.

The Immunes and the cured Cranks were sent to cities to work and produce the needed resources to cure the rest of the Cranks, directed by Brenda's trusted right hand man, who was named Jorge. Different cities used different methods with those past the Gone, some shooting them on sight, some showing mercy and locking them up in a walled off wing of the Crank Palace, hoping that the angel would reemerge to provide providence for the fully Gone Cranks as well.

The world was recovering, rebuilding. People stopped to talk in the streets again. School reopened and new babies arrived into the world, but Immune as well, as they had inherited the immunogens in their parents' bodies. Communications were reopened, and some even started to sit down and collect different accounts of what had transpired during this hellish period. People started venturing out of the cities, to explore and colonize the barren land. Scientists started working on how the Scorch could be utilized and made habitable once again.

Three years after the initial discovery of the Hong Cure, as they named it, MAZE was dissolved peacefully and other governments rose up in its place. Humanity began to divide up into different countries again, reclaiming previously lost land.

One decade elapsed. Space explorations were attempted once more, and efforts to colonize another planet were intensified, the two decade rampage of the Flares fresh on their minds.

Two decades. Dr. Hong was discovered dead in a small shack by a stray adventurer in what was previously known as Sweden. Events recorded in her journal brought about a search for the Maze Children, as the world knew them as, who were taken by WICKED and put through arduous trials to search for a Cure. The young summer children viewed them as war heroes, but those of the older generation were determined to find them, having experienced the horror of that period and having known the terror of the Flare.

Later televised readings revealed that the Maze Children were halved, and then halved again, until there were no more than a sixth of the original left. The journal detailed the most about a child named Newt, whom she had apparently been assigned to, known to WICKED as Subject A5. He was a Control.

The journal went on to talk more about the attempted uprisings within WICKED, how they were quashed, her own inner turmoil when the child attempted suicide.

The world was in an uproar, and the government put the public readings on hold, attempting to pacify the furious mob which was dedicated to hunting previous WICKED associates down. That hold turned into a permanent one. Only a few of the higher ranked officials were allowed to view it.

For the journal went on to detail WICKED's more horrific doings. Experimenting on the Controls with prototypes, pushing him to the point of death. How her colleagues, Dr Jones, Dr Greene, Dr Callestan were tasked with administering the prototypes and observing the effects. That she heard that everyone died within the Right Arm's attack on WICKED, while she was providing a distraction for Newt.

She had poured all of her grief into that tiny booklet when she believed Newt dead. There were close to no entries while she wallowed in the tiny village until it was eradicated by Cranks. She had a superior vehicle, and managed to flee in time. From there, she made her way aimlessly north. She dropped by the intelligence sector of the WICKED facility, looked through their files, only to discover that they had dissected the brain of another Candidate, Teresa, only to come up with nothing.

She had found another room which was coated in drying blood. There, the last Candidate lay, gun in the corner of the room and a blank expression on his face.

She had wanted to end her life at one point too, driving further north, and then walking through the cold blizzards when her vehicle ran out of fuel. She would have died too, if not for the town of Jackson that found her and took her in, due to her white doctor's coat and the town's understaffed hospital.

There, a kind nurse mentioned in passing how the Right Arm had stopped by with a strange request.

To take care of a dying, non-Immune boy.

Hope flared. So he did not die with the others!

She wrangled a way to find out where the boy had gone, with his other two friends, one the last surviving Candidate, and the other a brash, strong boy, and Newt's best friend. She followed the best she could, and it took time, but eventually she found them in a forest in Norway.

Her encounter with them, however, only had the beginning recorded.

 _I was about done with this place-it looked undisturbed, unusually Crank free, yes, but there were no signs of any living human. I had searched many places, for three months, but I had turned up nothing. But he should still be alive, he had to be._

 _And he was._

 _I saw Thomas first, and he was less intimidating than when he was in charge of planning the Trials, but my nerves became so jittery that I couldn't move._

" _Thomas-" I started._

There were no more entries after that, only pages and pages of white.

They debated whether they should send someone to search for this Thomas and Newt, and the third unnamed friend whom they assumed to be Minho, from previous entries.

The President of Norway denied a search on their territory so vehemently that it startled them, but Asia returned with a unanimous vote to deny such a search as well, even though it was within their interests to present this Minho as a hero. Africa allowed a search, but was confident that they would only be wasting their time. In the end, after a few half hearted, confidential searches, they called a close to the matter of WICKED. The abandoned facility mentioned was under the jurisdiction of the United States, and they had found the boy a long time ago-the Cranks feasting on him. As usual, it was sealed and never spoken of again.

The President of Norway let out a satisfied hum as soon as she was out of the camera bombardment. Pushing forty, she had rose to the occasion after the dissolving of MAZE, taking up a position in the World Leaders' Conference when they were reestablishing territory lines and the like. As the director of MAZE, which had been essential to rebuilding the world, every country was eager to have her as their leader, regardless of birth.

Brenda had surprised everyone by choosing Norway.

Jorge had picked a position in Asia's cabinet, quietly influencing the administration and making sure that those who didn't want to be found wouldn't be found.

She ignored the President of the United States who had been suspecting her of hiding something-he'd raised the issue privately with those in Europe and Asia, and Jorge had informed her of it-and that his suspicions would only be strengthened. She didn't care. She had nothing to tell.

Only of one snowy night spent in Norway, listening to Dr. Hong tell her tale of her encounter with the trio.

* * *

Thomas snapped around at the sound of his name, instantly wary and alert. He recognized the face from WICKED, but then she was never one of Janson's supporters. Still, she had come here looking for them, that much was obvious. He couldn't let her take them back. Not after they had finally gained the chance to live again.

"Dr. Hong." He said, loud enough so that Minho would hear and keep Newt and himself out of sight. If he was to be captured again, at least he wouldn't drag his friends along with him. Even though he knew that Minho would more likely be thinking along the terms of a surprise attack.

"Thomas." She repeated his name a little awkwardly. "I…uh. I heard that Newt was alive. And that you took him."

"We won't let you have him back." Thomas said automatically, casting a glance in the completely opposite direction of their hidey hole, hoping to misdirect any watchers. Then he realized that he had just ruined the cover story they had decided on. "I mean, he's dead. You can't take the body for more experiments. We, uh, buried him."

"Quit the klunk cover story, shank. You ruined it from the start already." A voice rang out from the tree above him, and Thomas resisted the urge to smack someone as he raised his head slowly to look at Newt, who was swinging his legs, one of them still _bandaged, shuck it all_ on a tree branch. "I think we can trust her."

"How did you get up that tree?" Thomas asked. "Never mind, how did you get away from Minho?"

Newt grinned.

"I don't want to know." Thomas said immediately. He turned to the doctor, who looked overwhelmed by the sight of a not just healthy, but _sane_ Newt. "And I guess you want to know how too."

They led Dr Hong back to their tiny, makeshift home-a three storey building which they only used the top floor, because of the frequent flooding, and packed with an abundant amount of food, water and wood. A disgruntled Minho met them at the door, shooting insults at Newt for whatever he had done involving an apple, a lot of ants and twigs, but allowed a tiring Newt to climb on his back for the journey up the two flights of stairs.

"He still gets tired easily, and sleeps a lot, but he's improving." Thomas explained, falling back into his old habits at WICKED, where he would report to the entire council of doctors and scientists about any subject. "Whatever Janson gave him worked, but I think I have an easier way to that. That…poison…potion Janson made him was supposed to inhibit cognitive activity, stopping the Flare from spreading, but it would be expelled from the body within days, unless it took on the form of a tumor, but that's another problem. Newt had probably developed the immunogens necessary to combat the Flare during the time bought by that, but if all we need was to stop brain activity…"

"A coma." Dr Hong said.

"Are you saying that I could have skipped all that and just do a coma for three months?" Newt's voice sounded grumpily from the other side of the room.

"Maybe." Thomas shrugged. "That theory is still untested."

"Then after the Flare was gone…what happened to the drug?" Dr Hong asked. "I mean, this time he looks a lot better compared to when I saw him last."

"I'm hoping that his body will develop a similar resistance to it in the process, and it could have already developed, since he's able to function normally, and the tiredness could just be due to his body repairing itself from everything, but we have no way to confirm that." Thomas sighed tiredly.

Dr Hong mulled over the information she had obtained in her mind, then spoke. "Do you mind if I take your information and test it out in a nearby hospital? That way I can use the resources to check Newt, and if it succeeds, we will have a cure for the Flare."

"Good that." Newt murmured, and Minho turned the idea around in his head briefly before agreeing as well, seeing no harm in it. Thomas nodded as well, having the approval of both his friends.

"Just one condition though. Please don't let the outside world know about us. We want to live in peace. If they find out, they'll come after us again."

Dr Hong didn't need to think twice.

"Alright."

* * *

Humanity colonized Mars five decades after the Flares. The first volunteers were three middle aged men with their family, down to the third generation of kids. Numbering forty seven in all.

When interviewed, one said.

"We had enough bad experiences here. Maybe we can start anew there."

Another said.

"I have a sense of adventure, unlike the other klunkheaded shanks who're still thinking about it."

The news station had a hard time deciding whether they should censor those, because they weren't swears, even though the man said it like one.

And the last one with graying blond hair and a freshly cured limp, thanks to the new technology, simply shrugged.

"I follow my friends."


End file.
